


Words Are Wind

by AEDylan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Childhood Sweethearts, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2018-04-23 18:08:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4886629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AEDylan/pseuds/AEDylan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A modern AU in which Jon and Dany are childhood friends.</p><p>(I know, I know, that's awfully brief, but I suck at summaries and I haven't really got a clear direction and a concrete outline for this story yet, so you guys would just have to make do with that poor excuse of a summary for the time being...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just feel like the world needs more Jon/Dany fics, so yeah, here's my contribution... (but this first chapter here is, basically, just a little backstory on Jon. You'd still have to wait for a few more chapters before Jon and Dany's meeting.)

Jon has always been a loner.

Not really wanting to be in the company of others all that much. _Reticent and broody little Jon_ , that’s what people called him. He’s a lot like his father in that regard, with his long and somber face, dark hair and grey eyes. Then again, most of the Starks look that way, so it wasn’t really just his father whom he resembled. Sometimes, people would say that he looks a lot like his Aunt Lyanna as well. Other times, it was his Uncle Brandon or Uncle Benjen. He didn’t know who he really did look like, but he's always wished to hear them say that he also looked like his mother.

_The mother that he never met. The mother who died giving birth to him._

That fact has always haunted Jon. He blamed himself for his mother’s death and the perpetual look of grief on his father’s face. He had felt the guilt for his birth ever since that day his father first brought him to the Godswood Cemetery to show him his late mother’s grave and explain to him how she died.

He doesn’t really know much about her apart from the things his father tells him, and he always wondered how she’s really like.

His father had told him once that his mother was the most beautiful woman he has ever met and that she was kind and loving and fiercely loyal. Uncle Brandon was only too quick to second the part about how much of a great beauty she was. He had been too ardent in voicing his _admirations_ , in fact, that it was “borderline lascivious” as what his Aunt Lyanna once remarked. He didn’t really understand what that word meant then, but he remembered his father’s unamused mien and the glare that he gives Uncle Brandon whenever he hears of his so-called lascivious praises, so Jon assumed that, perhaps, it meant something bad.

 _How right he had been_ , he thought, the day he learned of the word’s actual meaning. He didn’t exactly appreciate his Uncle Brandon’s ribald comments about his dear departed mother, but he didn’t hold it against him, either. Brandon Stark is what one would call a shameless and unapologetic flirt, and so he dismissed his provocations to be merely harmless teasing. They called him the Wild Wolf for a reason.

His father had kept pictures of her in a box which he hid in the virtually decrepit and forgotten attic of _Winterfell Manor_ \- a rather pretentious name that their ancestors had deemed to call the Stark estate.

Jon didn't understand why he had kept them there, lamentably fading and gathering dust in a dark and hidden corner when they should be displayed all over the walls of their house for everyone to see, and praise her beauty as much as his uncle had. But his father had his reasons he preferred to keep to himself. One, he noticed, nobody dared to ask him about.

On his fifth birthday, however, after they had visited his mother’s grave, his father decidedly took him to that musty and desolate part of the house and gave him that box. The moment he saw her face (a dusty and washed-out portrait of hers, at least), Jon had to agree, she was the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. With her sun-kissed skin, haunting deep blue eyes that looked as if they were almost glinting violet and black hair that fell in loose waves up to her waist, his mother, truly, was stunning. He was certain that the muted colors of the photograph didn't do much justice to his mother, but she looked beautiful all the same.

It’s become his tradition to go to the Godswood Cemetery every Saturday ever since he learned that his mother had been laid to rest in that very place. His father had accompanied him the first time on his fifth birthday, and then the next, and then the next, still. Until he stopped going altogether when Jon turned eight.

Ned had told him, that first time, that his mother slept in that place. It was also the first time that he somehow came to have a grasp of the concept of death. Although, initially, when his father told him that she _slept_ there, he had not understood his meaning. He didn’t understand why his mother would be in a place that was not their home. Robb and Sansa’s mum, Aunt Catelyn, lives in Winterfell Manor with them, so why was his mother not? Why was she left in the Godswood Cemetery to sleep all by herself? It only confused him further when Ned gestured at a huge slab of stone with words and numbers engraved on it.

...

"There she is, Jon. Your mother.” his father’s low and placid voice had sounded from beside him, breaking the silence, and Jon couldn't help but think of how his father’s voice fitted with the austerity of the place.

His nose scrunched up at the unpleasant feeling that the place elicited from him. The Godswood Cemetery was a bleak place with a dreary air that hung about it and he decided that he didn't like it very much.

He looked at the stone, reading what was written on it in that stilted and awkward way children only beginning to learn do, his frown growing deeper in confusion as he did so.

 

_**Ashara Dayne Stark** _

 

_**For you were a falling star** _

_**One of a million lights in a vast sky** _

_**That flared up for a brief moment** _

_**Only to disappear into the endless night forever** _

 

_**You will be remembered** _

 

“That’s just a huge slab of stone.” he remarked matter-of-factly after a while, his dark eyebrows knitting.

“What I meant to say is that she lays there. That’s her resting place.” his father explained, eyes fixed solemnly upon him.

 _How can she fit in there? And why would she rather sleep there? Doesn’t she want to be with us?_ Those were the questions that ran through his head. He had been utterly confused, then.

He was just deciding on which question he’d choose to ask first to clear his naïve and befuddled mind when his father’s voice broke his musings.

“Of course, she wants to be with us.” he answered with a light voice. Apparently, Jon had spoken those earlier thoughts out loud.

“She loves us both very much.” his father went on saying. “You, especially. But... she didn’t really have a choice. The Stranger took her and put her there. I’m sure that if she could, she would have stopped the Stranger from doing so. So, she could be with you... with us.”

A moment of long silence hung in the air between them before Jon asked another question. “Who’s the Stranger?”

Squinting from the light of the sun, he looked up at his father’s face and awaited his answer.

“The Stranger,” his father sighed. “He’s the one who takes people’s lives when their time comes.”

“Why would he do that?” he prodded further as what a child as young as he is wont to do.

Ned found it quite endearing and amusing of his son to be this curious. Although, that is not to say that he would be equally appreciative of the incessant questions that - he was certain - was about to come. Jon is at that age where everything he encounters in life are promptly followed by questions that almost always had Ned breaking out in a cold sweat. It’s just that sometimes, he doesn’t know how to answer his son’s questions aptly and, at the same time, suitably for his age. Most parents would catch his meaning when he says that kids can oftentimes be extremely inquisitive to the point of making the adults feel uneasy.

He answered, regardless of his drifting thoughts. “Because that’s just the way things go, how things are supposed to be... Have you ever heard of the saying, _Valar Morghulis_?”

Jon has never heard of it, of course, and he thought that the saying sounded rather peculiar.

“Valarmoor-what?” he asked, frowning.

“Valar Morghulis. It means, _All men must die_.”

“Die... what does that mean?”

That word, he’s heard of before, but he isn’t really sure what it meant. He just knows that it was something to be sad about.

_Die. Dead. Death._

For some reason though, he was sure that he didn’t like those words, nor will he ever like them.

“It means, you stop living.” his father’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “You stop existing in this world. It means, you can no longer be with the ones you love...”

“Because that’s just the way things go, how things are supposed to be?” he said, repeating his father’s previous words as a question.

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s really... sad. And terrible. Whoever the Stranger is, I think he’s a big jerk!”

Jon’s eyes widened and he immediately slapped a hand over his mouth, realizing that he just uttered a very inappropriate word in front of his father.

His father, however, merely let out a short chuckle at that.

“Alright, I’ll pretend I did not hear that, but just this once.” His face was lit up with a rare smile that reached his eyes and Jon can’t help but mirror his father’s expression.

Grinning, he asked him another question, “But, Daddy, does that mean that we’d get to see Mummy again once the Stranger took us, too?”

In a firm yet gentle voice, he answered, “That, I do not know, Jon. Surely, we’ll know it when it happens... but not today, nor the next, because first, we must live.”

He stared at the solemn face of his father, mulling over his words, before he returned his gaze to his mother’s gravestone. One of the dates engraved on it caught his attention.

“That’s my birthday. Why is my birthday on that stone?” he asked his father with a befuddled frown, pointing at the aforementioned stone.

Ned smiled dolefully as he gently put his hand over Jon’s head and lightly ruffled his dark curls. He slowly went down to his knees to be on an eye level with his son, gazing at him with somber eyes.

_Grey on grey._

“She died the day you were born, Jon.”

Jon’s previous frown only deepened as he broodily tried to make sense of his father’s words.

“She died giving birth to you.” his father explained further in a strained tone.

An unbidden thought suddenly came to his mind then and before he could think better of it, he voiced it, “You mean... Mummy gave her life in exchange of mine?”

 _He took his mother’s life_ , he ruminated darkly. He’s not supposed to think that way, he knew. But it was as if his contemplations are almost involuntary. They just came without him even wanting to.

“Her time had come to end and yours had come to start. She wanted you to experience life as she once did.” His father replied evasively.

“That wasn’t the answer to my question.” he contended.

Ned sighed. He’s starting to regret his decision in bringing Jon here and telling him of his mother’s death. He’s still too young, he suddenly only realized. But Jon has always seemed ahead of his age, so strangely mature, that Ned sometimes forgets how young he truly is.

 _Gods, he only just turned five today._ He thought contritely. _He’s too young to be burdened of such matters_.

But he knew he had to answer. Knowing Jon, he’d only feel worse if he was left with questions unanswered. He’s already opened the can of worms, so might as well just get it over with. He couldn’t lie to him either. Lies would only further complicate things. All he could do was to assuage the weight of the truth for Jon.

“In a way, yes, I guess, you could say that... it was a sacrifice she made.”

“So it is my fault, then? I’m the reason why she can no longer be with the ones she love and why she’s sleeping all cramped up under that piece of stone? What if she hates me for it? Do you hate me for it, Daddy?” Jon blurted out agitatedly, _frantically_. It was as if his words were engaged in a race with his emotions, as if his tears were fighting their way out ahead of his thoughts and he was trying to chase them desperately.

Jon just wanted to cry then. It was all too much to take in his young mind, knowing that his mother could be suffering, that she was all alone in this miserable place and that he was the reason for it. He didn’t completely understand and yet he felt the enormity of its meaning. He felt a great deal of pain.

“No, no, don’t think that.” Ned said quickly, shaking his head. “She could never hate you, I could never hate you. We love you. It’s no one’s fault. It happened because it was meant to be that way. I suppose, it’s rather kind of the gods, don’t you think? They took your mother from me, but they gave you as well. She isn’t completely lost in the world, because a part of her stayed. That’s you.”

His father tried to mask his pain with another smile and even then he still looked sad. Jon saw through it. He knew his father was only being placating for his sake and it only made him feel even guiltier. He felt ashamed of himself. Now, he’s hurting his father too. His eyes stung, his throat felt dry. He wanted to run away and hide in a corner and just cry. Cry his heart out until he could no longer feel whatever it was he’s feeling. He made a move to escape, but the hand that his father had placed earlier on his head now slid down to his little shoulder, holding him there firmly in place.

His father’s voice cracked as he said, “I’m sorry, Jon. I shouldn’t have told you. You weren’t ready. I’m so sorry. Your mother and I love you so much.”

Before he knew it, he was engulfed in his father’s warm embrace. And then, just like that, he let the tears flow. Surrendering in his father’s arms, he threw his own little ones around his father’s shoulders and burrowed his face deeper into the crook of his neck, sobbing hard while his father kept murmuring reassurances and apologies to his ear.

Ned lifted him up and walked away from his mother’s grave, all the while rubbing soothing circles on his back.

But Jon’s stare lingered over her gravestone while he rested his still slightly trembling chin on his father’s shoulder, eyes spilling with tears yet unwavering as they moved farther and farther away from where his mother rested.

It saddened him to think that she had no one with her.

 _She’s probably lonely_ , he thought.

And so that day, Jon made a promise to his mother that he will return. That he will never let her feel alone again.

### Notes:

* * *

 Ashara Dayne’s epitaph was quoted from Elisabeth Kübler-Ross’ book, “On Death and Dying”. I altered it a bit for a smoother cadence. I dunno, I think it just sounded better that way for an epitaph.

Anyway, here’s the complete quote:  
“Watching a peaceful death of a human being reminds us of a falling star; one of a million lights in a vast sky that flares up for a brief moment only to disappear into the endless night forever.”

I just felt that that whole thing about death and falling stars quite suited Ashara Dayne. I mean, it’s one of the symbols in her House’s sigil and well, she supposedly died by jumping off a cliff in canon, so yeah, her epitaph should definitely involve falling stars, right?

And just for the record, I subscribe to the R+L=J theory (I firmly believe that Jon is a Targ and no one can tell me otherwise!), but for the purpose of storytelling, I decided to make use of the N+A=J theory in this fic.

And oh, I’d love to hear what you guys think of this, so comments would be very much appreciated (just, please, don’t be rude about it). Constructive criticisms are always welcome!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one here is still a little backstory, but on Dany this time.
> 
> By the way, I decided to take out the tombstone dates (Ashara's birth/death) from the first chapter and leave it unspecified (apart from the year). So, just ignore that detail entirely. I feel like it only makes the writing come off as awkward and a bit tacky. Does that even make sense?
> 
> Oh, well, never mind that. Here's the next chapter...

Dany has always been insecure.

Some might not see it, for she hides that part of her behind a veil of cheeky grins, tinkling laughs and witty retorts. Yet underneath all that, she’s always been an insecure little child.

Most people give her kind compliments; sing her praises that should’ve made her feel otherwise – _pretty and precocious_ _little Dany_ , that’s what they called her – but no matter how hard she tried, she could not bring herself to believe them.

How could she when her own brother had it ingrained in her mind that she’s _just a_ _worthless piece of trash; nothing but an utter disgrace to their family_?

For as long as she could remember, Viserys has always treated her with the utmost disdain, for no apparent reason at all. It’s as if he just hated her for merely existing. She never completely understood why, but perhaps, it’s just _that_ simple – he hated her solely for _being born_. She supposed that it has something to do with the fact that she was doted upon by everyone in their family, while they had left him on the sidelines all by himself. Not that they actually had, but regardless, that’s what her brother made himself believe things to be.

Viserys has always yearned for attention.

 _And she practically ruined that for him when she decided to grace this world with her much-resented existence_ , Dany would sometimes think bitterly to herself.

She remembered, back when she was younger, she had found a photograph tucked between the pages of one of her father’s books. It was a little copy of their family portrait, taken when she was still but a babe in her mother’s arms. In that picture, her mother and her other brother, Rhaegar had looked upon her with unconcealed adoration in their eyes and even their stern and mostly indifferent father had this glazed look of quiet fondness in his as he gazed upon her, _but Viserys_ … he had looked at her with such blatant contempt, it was as if he was peering at a stain he’s disgusted with, rather than his own baby sister.

Time and again, whatever chance he’d get, Viserys would torment her. It morbidly delighted him to see his own little sister suffer from his own hands. And had it not been for their older brother, Rhaegar, she knew, she would’ve gone through much worse.

Sometimes, she thinks the gods too cruel for giving her a brother like Viserys. She already has one older brother; a brother who loves her and does not hurt her. So, why did they still deem it necessary to bestow upon her another which she considers more as an atrocious curse rather than a part of her family?

But then, after thinking that, a spiteful voice, somewhere in the deepest recesses of her mind, would tell her that she has no right to feel that way. Viserys had been born before her, so if anything, she should feel sorry that _she_ was born.

It didn’t help that, when she was younger, her brother used to tell her that she was adopted.

Sure, it was just one of his many petty and immature ways in riling her up and making her life miserable, but it certainly used to get to her more than anything.

It was a dreadful seed of doubt that Viserys had deeply planted in her young mind. Just the idea that her whole childhood could turn out to be mere pretense all along had troubled her greatly; she oftentimes loses sleep just pondering over it. She feared that she was, in truth, merely an outsider to the family she grew up believing as her own. But most importantly, she feared that they would grow tired of her and just abandon her entirely the moment they all decide that they don’t want her anymore.

As she grew older, however, she ceased believing the lie that Viserys has repeatedly entrenched in her mind.

Of course, she wasn’t adopted. She knew that now. She looks too much like her mother to be one. But she can never forget that time when Viserys almost had her believing that she was...

***

She had only been around four years old then, just a few more months before turning five, if her memory serves her right.

She remembered it being a bright and a particularly pleasant morning as she pranced about the hallway to her room, feeling giddy with happiness for some silly reason.

Flapping limply on her back was a pair of leather dragon wings that her mother had made for her _._ It had been that year’s trick-or-treat costume and although Halloween has already come and gone, she still wore it every day, imagining herself a dragon flying aimlessly amongst the clouds.

As she was busy with the whims of being a child, she happened upon the door of Viserys’ room and a sudden urge to go inside bloomed within her when she saw that it was half-opened. She knew, she’s not supposed (or _allowed_ , more like) to touch even a single toe to his room, but something caught her attention from inside: a flicker of light that seems to be winking at her and beckoning her to come and look closer.

Slyly, she peered in through the gap and slowly pushed the door farther open with a soft creak. Justifying what she was about to do as simply the result of an irrepressible curiosity of a child, she tentatively took a step inside. Enthralled by the shimmering light coming from the small object, she padded along the floor farther into the room, only growing more amazed by it as she drew closer.

It was a small crystal statuette of a dragon that was perched on the ledge of Viserys’ window and it had caught a sliver of sunshine coming through the glass pane, making a rainbow of splintered light ricochet along the walls from the dragon’s prismatic crystal scales.

 _It’s beautiful,_ she remembered thinking.

And she couldn’t help herself as her hand reached out for the glimmering thing to pluck it from where it was placed.

She was admiring the pretty little ornament in awe, turning it here and there in her hands when it suddenly slipped from her hold and fell with a muffled thud on the carpeted floor. Her heart skipped a beat as it landed, but the shock immediately turned into relief when she saw that it didn’t break. She was thankful it didn’t shatter, for if it had, then only the gods knew what would happen next. She could just imagine the horror that would befall her if Viserys ever learns that she had been in his room and that she had broken one of his things.

She shuddered at the thought.

However, as she bent down to pick the figurine up and return it to its previous place, Viserys’ screeching voice unexpectedly sounded from behind, startling her and causing her to abruptly turn to where he stood. Wide-eyed and frozen with fear, she watched as her brother made his way lividly towards her.

"You little wretch! What are you doing here?!"

When she saw his face become red with fury, a stuttered apology immediately flew out of her lips, but Viserys – possibly losing his sense of hearing from anger – didn’t catch a word she said. Not that it mattered much anyway. It wouldn’t make any difference even if he did hear her. Viserys would still be mad, all the same.

He closed the distance between them with quick strides and the moment he reached her, he forcefully grabbed her by her arm and then promptly shoved her down onto the floor. The force and the pain from being jostled took the breath out of her lungs, making her squeak when she landed with a loud thump on the floor.

“You bitch! Who gave you the idea that you could even step a single foot in my room and touch my things, huh?!” He demanded as his looming figure hovered over her.

“I-I’m s-sorry, Viserys! I didn’t break anything, I promise! I just wanted to look. I promise I just looked!” She blurted out in panic as she raised her arms over her head in a defensive manner.

Viserys snatched the crystal dragon she was clutching in one of her hands. “Don’t you touch any of my things with your filthy hands ever again!”

“I promise, I promise, I won’t!”

“You just can’t do anything right, can you?! I don’t get why mum and dad even bothered adopting you. It’s not like you have much use. You’re just a nuisance to our lives! A bloody waste of space!” He snarled.

His words had shocked her. _Adopted?_ Despite her young age, Dany already knew what the word meant. And the weight of the revelation had her feeling numb.

Her chin shook from the tears she was trying so hard to hold back. “I’m not adopted.” She countered tremulously, trying to glare at her brother with clear defiance.

“Of course, you’re adopted! You can never be a Targaryen! We’re dragons! How can you be a dragon when you’re just a pesky and disgusting little maggot?” He seethed through clenched teeth with such malice in his eyes.

“Stop it!” She sputtered pitifully, on the brink of bawling.

Seemingly more fueled by her distress, he kept on spitting his insults. “They should’ve left you in that pile of shit your real mother dumped you in.”

“I’m not adopted!” She repeated, louder this time, more for her own reassurance, rather than an assertion to her brother.

He let out a snide scoff. “How pathetic. Even your whore of a mother doesn’t want you, you poor little thing.”

His face contorted into a frown of mock-pity as he said those vile words to his own sister without even a single qualm much less a pang of remorse.

He then lifted his hand, poised to strike her, but Rhaegar suddenly came bursting through the door, calling Viserys’ name with a reprimanding voice.

Not for the first time, Dany felt immensely grateful and relieved to see her brother coming to her rescue.

 _My brother…_ Dany thought, and she can’t help thinking if he really was.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” He was suddenly in between her and Viserys, instinctively pushing him away from her.

“I’m teaching that little maggot a lesson!” He spat as he pointed an accusing finger at her, his lip curling in annoyance.

Rhaegar looked at Dany then and the sight of his little sister on the floor, close to tears had him simmering in suppressed anger.

“Get out!” He snapped at Viserys in a low voice.

“I’m not the one you should tell off! That little bi--”

“ _Get. Out_.” He repeated sharply, cutting Viserys’ words off as his nostrils flared and his lips pressed into a thin line. “Don’t test my patience, Viserys.”

Viserys grumbled in disapproval and threw his sister a withering glare. “Why do you care so much about that hell spawn?!”

“She’s our sister!” Rhaegar bellowed, appalled. “Now, go before I throw you out of this room, myself!”

And so with a derisive snort and a parting look of undisguised antipathy, he grudgingly walked out of his own room, muttering profanities to both his siblings under his breath.

Dany quietly released a sigh of relief the moment he left and Rhaegar slowly bent down to help her up on her feet. He started to guide her to sit on Viserys' bed, but she only shook her head.

“I want to go to my room.” She sniffled, wiping unshed tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.

Rhaegar didn’t say anything, but he took her small hand in his and quietly led her outside and back to her room.

Seeing her bed brought her calm. With its fluffy blue sheets and white pillows shaped like fat clouds, she almost believed that the sky above had been conjured up into her own room. She headed straight to it and sat on its edge with a soft flop, Rhaegar following to sit right beside her and making the mattress droop lower under his added weight.

“So tell me, what happened?” Her brother asked evenly.

Her hand absently sought for one of her cloud-shaped pillows, pulling it to her lap and squishing it with a light embrace, if only to occupy herself with something before she could detail everything that happened.

“I went inside his room…” She began with a subdued tone.

Rhaegar nodded for her to continue.

She started rambling then. “I was just curious. I just wanted to look at that crystal dragon. I saw it from outside, because his door was opened. I just wanted to see what it was. So I went inside and took it. Just to look, I mean, and not to actually take and keep it… but then I dropped it.” She looked at her brother with imploring eyes. “I swear, Rhaegar, I didn’t mean to. It just slipped from my hands.”

“I believe you.” He assured her with a kind smile.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, and besides, it didn’t even break. I was just returning it when Viserys saw me and then he got mad…”

Rhaegar heaved out a sigh and patted her head awkwardly. “Don’t worry. I know it’s not your fault.”

Of course, it wasn’t Dany’s fault. Viserys just tends to overreact about every single thing especially wherever their little sister is concerned. He goes berserk over the most trivial of matters that Dany is involved in. And that has always bothered Rhaegar. It was as if Viserys just mindlessly hates their sister and he takes pleasure in seeing her distressed.

Rhaegar veered from his thoughts. “A crystal dragon, you say?”

“Uh-huh.” Dany nodded her head animatedly, seemingly back to her sprightlier self. He found his sister’s fickleness quite amusing. “Have you seen it? It’s so pretty.” She enthused.

“Sure, I’ve seen it. I have one, too. It was a gift from Grandpa Jae and Grandma Shaera.” He said offhandedly.

“Oh…” She mumbled as her face fell, before timidly asking, “You both have one, then?”

The look of sheer disappointment on her face almost broke Rhaegar’s heart and he chastised himself for being thoughtless with his words. It wasn’t that Dany didn’t have her own dragon; it’s just that it wasn’t given to her yet.

He immediately mollified his little sister to bring back her livelier spirit. “It’s not like what you think, Dany. You’ll have your own dragon, too, but you’ll only get it when you turn ten. Just like we did.”

For some reason, his idiosyncratic Grandpa Jae had decided that he would only give those jewel dragons to his grandkids on their tenth birthday.

“Really?!” Dany beamed.

“Of course.”

“What does your dragon look like? Is it as pretty as Viserys’? Do you think mine would be as pretty as that, too?”

“Well, mine’s made of emerald and its colour is a brilliant green. I’ll show it to you later, if you want…” She nodded her head eagerly. “And I’m sure that yours would be the prettiest, Dany. Just like you.” He grinned and poked her cheek.

He had expected, at least, a smile from her when he said that, but was disappointingly met with a look of doubt colouring her countenance.

“Do you really think I’d get one?” She asked uncertainly.

“Of course.” He replied, without missing a beat. “Grandpa Jae said that since it’s our family sigil, it’s only fitting for each of us to have our own dragon.”

“But… Viserys…” Her words faltered as tears started to well up in her eyes once more. “Viserys told me that I’m only adopted. That I can never be a dragon, because I’m not a real Targaryen.” She muttered despondently.

Rhaegar keenly regarded her with narrowed eyes, but not without warmth. “And do you honestly believe that?” He asked.

Dany didn’t answer, only sheepishly looking down at her swinging dainty, bare feet. Her brother gave her a comforting smile as he gently lifted her onto his lap.

“Well, you shouldn’t.” He said, lightly tapping the tip of her nose with his forefinger. That earned him a small teary-eyed smile.

“Because whenever I look at you, it’s like I’m looking at my own reflection… only a lot smaller and way, way cuter.” He gushed as he fondly pinched her cheek, grinning. “If you’re adopted, then that means, I’m adopted, too… which, of course, I highly doubt, because I’ve been told many times before that I’m like mum’s clone.”

Dany looked at him then, sniggering adorably, with tears still sparkling on the tips of her lashes. “A _clown_? People used to tell you you’re like a clown?”

“Not a clown, silly. A _clone_.” He corrected her with a playful glare.

“What does that mean?” She asked, gazing at him curiously with misty eyes.

“It means, a duplicate. A replica.”

She shook her head and pursed her lips. “I don’t understand those words either.”

Rhaegar hummed, pausing to think of an explanation that Dany would understand. “It means that I look so much like our mother, I’m almost like an exact copy of her. There, do you understand better now?”

Dany considered his words for a while, before she finally nodded. “Mh-hmm. “

“So, you see, if I’m like mum’s clone, then you’re like mum’s clone, too. _We’re both like mum’s clone._ How can you possibly be adopted when you look so much like us, huh?” He looked at her with squinted eyes, as if peering at her features studiously. “You know, you’re actually like a miniature version of her.”

“There you are again with those words, Rhaegar!”  She scoffed exasperatedly with a roll of her eyes, which only made her brother laugh amusedly. “What does _minuchur_ mean?”

“It means…” He began, dragging out the syllables, “…small, little, tiny, itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny…” Trailing off, he playfully prodded her in the ribs with his fingers. She started to giggle and squirm on his lap as he tickled her, but was abruptly cut off by the sharp pain she felt.

“Ow!” She yelped clutching at her shoulder, immediately catching Rhaegar’s attention. He stopped tickling her right away.

“Wha--why? Did I hurt you?” He asked with such brotherly concern, it tugged at Dany’s heart. It’s a good thing she has a big brother like Rhaegar, she thought fondly. How wretched her life would have been had Viserys been her only brother.

“My shoulder.” She explained with a slight moue. “Viserys pulled me by my arm earlier and my shoulder popped…”

Rhaegar’s brow furrowed, clicking his tongue as he tried to carefully examine his sister’s injury. “Let me see.”

She let him with a bit of reluctance, wincing feebly as his lithe fingers touched her shoulder with fixed attention.

As he was busy with his ministrations, Dany can’t help but think about how much her two brothers differ from each other. While Rhaegar was gentle and affectionate, Viserys was crude and aloof. Then again, it might be just her he was being difficult to. The gods know she has tried to form a more harmonious relationship with her brother, but he just dismisses her every time she does, or worse still, he only alienates himself further from her.

Not for the first time, she wondered about Viserys’ unabashed hatred for her. “Why does he hate me so much? What did I even do to him, Rhaegar?”

Her question gave him pause and he looked at her with serious contemplation. He didn’t know for sure why his younger brother’s ire was directed mostly to their little sister, but what he did know was why Viserys has such violent tendencies.

After taking a deep breath and clearing his throat, he answered with much hesitance, “Viserys… he’s… he’s not _well,_ Dany.”

That had her frowning confusedly. “What do you mean he’s not well? Is he sick?”

“Yes, sort of…” He muttered vaguely.

Viserys is not mentally sound. They had learned that early on. Ever since he was little, Viserys would frequently get these episodes of temper tantrums that were far more severe than the normal tantrums most kids have. As he had gotten older, Viserys became more prone to violent outbursts of anger that were, at times, almost uncontrollable and it had only grown significantly worse around the same time Dany was born. He’s been going through medication and therapy ever since they learned of his disorder, but much to their dismay, he hasn’t yet shown much improvement.

“He looks okay, though.” Dany’s little voice broke his musings. “Sure, he’s thin, but he still looks healthy to me. And he likes to eat his greens, so why would he get sick? Mum said that if we eat our greens, we won’t get sick.” She droned on with an endearing tone of innocence that Rhaegar can no longer bring himself to tell more about Viserys’ real condition.

 _Not yet, at least,_ he thought.

“It’s not as simple as you think.” He sighed deeply, unsure of how to explain such a sensitive matter to his little sister, so he decided to just dismiss it entirely. “You’ll understand better when you’re older, Dany… No more questions, for now.”

She must have heard the tone of finality in his voice, because she merely murmured an “ _Okay_ ”. There was a pout on her lips and a hint of disappointment in her voice when she said that, though. But still, she thankfully acquiesced without further protestations. Rhaegar gently let go of her arm, then.

“I don’t think it’s dislocated. But to be sure, I’m still taking you to the doctor to get it checked.”

She nodded meekly, but Rhaegar noticed a flicker of hesitation on her eyes as her gaze flitted down to her feet once more. Something was still bothering her, he could tell.

“What is it? Come on, you know you can tell me anything, right?” He urged her kindly.

She was quiet for a while, before she finally voiced her thoughts, “I’m not really adopted, am I?”

 _Viserys’ words must have really gotten to her badly_ , Rhaegar thought sadly.

“Of course, you’re not. You’re my little sister, you understand? _Our brave baby dragon.”_ Rhaegar murmured against the top of her head as he placed a light kiss upon it. “Look, you even have wings.” He added as he playfully tugged at the dragon wings Dany was wearing.

Seemingly more reassured, the corners of her lips lifted into a faint smile and she promptly thanked her brother with a loud peck on his cheek.

“Now, off you go and get yourself ready.” He shooed her playfully, gently pushing her off his lap.

***

That had been three years ago…

And here she is today, sitting sullenly in the backseat of one of her father's luxury cars, looking out the window and absently watching a pattern of trees and houses pass by in a blur, with Viserys, who was as sullen as she, sitting right beside her and their chauffeur the only other company they have.

 _Oh, what thrilling company,_ she thought sardonically.

Rhaegar wasn’t with them. He hasn’t been for quite a while, now. He’d gone off to Oldtown to study at The Citadel University around two years ago.

She still remembered how hard she cried and how tightly she clutched onto Rhaegar’s arm that day they saw him off at the airport. She only let go when they had appeased her of promises that Rhaegar would visit as often as he could and that he would spend the holidays with them.

The first few months of him gone had been rather hard on Dany, preferring to sulk her days away in her room all by herself. At that time, she had felt utterly sad and scared and a little bit angry at Rhaegar for leaving her all alone with Viserys.

However, after some time, she learned to accept it and get on with life. Besides, it wasn’t like Rhaegar would always be there to protect her from Viserys and everything else she needed protecting from for the rest of her life. She knew she had to do that herself, eventually. Regardless, she must admit that she misses Rhaegar terribly.

The thought had her sighing inwardly. _The things she’d give just to have her favourite brother’s presence in this suffocating car ride._

They’re on their way to move to some place called _Red Keepville_ in the city of King’s Landing.

 _The name doesn't sound too promising,_ she thought wryly.

It sounded so phony, it’s almost like some made-up place that one would only find in movies. It made her think of an eerie and affluent suburban village with too lush and too green lawns and creepy subservient housewives constantly cooling homemade pies on their windowsills…

When she did a little research ( _Googling_ , being the more apt term, she reckoned), she found out that _Red Keepville_  is an opulent district in King’s Landing where almost all of the elite families in Westeros lived.

At first, she hadn’t been too ecstatic when she learned that they’d be moving house, – _Dragonstone_ was, after all, the only place she has ever considered her home. It was where she was born and raised and it’s not exactly easy to just let it go – and yet, as they drew closer to their destination, she can no longer deny the tinge of excitement that she felt at the prospect of having new adventures, meeting new people and making new friends in the place she was going to call her _new home._

She only hoped that she’d find solace there just like she had at Dragonstone. She wished that the days she’d spend there would be worthwhile...

 

### Notes:

* * *

I got carried away in writing this chapter and made it way longer than what I initially intended. Hope you didn't find it too tedious... :)

And if you have any suggestions about another name for Red Keepville (ugh! it's just awful), that'd be very much appreciated. Something that's still phony sounding but more fitting for a fancy community. lol!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly about the Starks... just a glimpse into their lives and home, basically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait...

Jon has been awake long before the early morning light began slipping through the gaps in the curtains that covered his bedroom windows, though he was still lying on his bed, unmoving - save for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed - and staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars that dotted the whole of his room's ceiling.

Even now, as the bright streaks of sunlight came pouring in to illuminate his dark room, the eerie green specks were still visible all over, albeit paler than they were when the sun hasn't yet made its appearance. Still though, it made him feel as if he was lost and floating in space.

He basked in the transient stillness of the world. It's times like this when he feels most in his element.

 _But then_ , just like in all his erstwhile mornings, his spacey mood was eventually broken... From downstairs, he could already hear the faint clatter of pots and pans and muffled voices mingling in the air with the smell of food which he couldn't quite identify.

They're already preparing breakfast, he figured. And so, he decided to get out of bed then.

Sluggishly, he stood up and stretched his stiff limbs, before traipsing to his bathroom for his morning routine, which was basically just splashing water on his face and brushing his teeth. Once he was finished with all those, he headed for the door, feeling ready to start his day.

As he stepped outside, he saw that his little cousin was already there waiting, holding her cuddly wolf toy by one of its ears and rubbing her eyes, which were still heavy with the hint of sleep, with her small fist.

"Good morning, Arya." He greeted her as he put a hand over her sleep-tousled hair - one that was as dark as his own. He was greeted back with a cute and infectious yawn that had him yawning as well, in turn.

As always, her tiny fingers closed over the fabric of his shirt, clutching and wordlessly waiting for him to take the lead. To where, she didn't quite know, but she trusted him wholly all the same.

"Are you hungry." he asked.

She nodded, before letting out another yawn.

"Well then, time to go get breakfast..."

" _Awya_ wants steak." she mumbled sleepily, eyes slightly drooping.

She's referring to herself in third person again - a quirk of hers that Jon was already used to. He's well aware that he should be helping his little cousin fix her yet undeveloped speech, but he found her manner of speaking quite amusing and adorable, so he didn't bother correcting her.

 _Well, she'll learn that at school later on, anyway_ , he thought.

"I don't think they will be preparing steak for _breakfast_ , Arya. And with those little teeth of yours, you won't be able to chew it properly, anyway."

"But Awya wants to twy it! It's Daddy's favewit." she mumbled, barely articulating her letter r's the way most toddlers her age tend to do.

Jon shook his head and gave her an amused smile, before appeasing her with a response. "We'll ask your mum then, okay?"

That had her nodding eagerly.

"Come on then. Let's go look for her." he beckoned, before both of them started ambling downstairs.

He had to do it slowly and carefully, placing both feet on each step the same way Arya does. She was murmuring numbers under her breath - counting, Jon figured - with every step she took.

_One, two, thwee..._

Jon could only sigh. _Perhaps, by the time they finish descending, it would be time for dinner,_ he thought drolly. _And Arya could actually have the steak that she so wanted_.

Finally getting to the bottom of the stairs, he continued to the kitchen with his little cousin in tow, who was still holding onto his shirt and dragging her poor wolf toy's haunches across the floor. When they got there, they saw that his Aunt Catelyn was already busy moving around the kitchen with a few of the house help assisting her, which struck him rather odd, because they weren't usually this hectic in the mornings.

"Mummy!" Arya called.

At the sound of her voice, her mother immediately looked up from the task she was absorbed in. She smiled, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her youngest daughter.

"Oh, if it isn't my little darling Arya." she cooed. "Good morning, love. You're up early today."

"Awya is always up eawly!"

"Yes, yes, of course, but you're earlier than usual." she amended. "Come here, you."

And so she did, letting go of Jon's shirt and tottering towards her mother while Jon just stood there awkwardly, unnoticed. Or perhaps, his Aunt Cat was just deliberately ignoring him.

It wasn't something new to him. Jon was, in truth, quite used to his aunt's aloofness and it was something he has deliberately tried to ignore as well.

With her blazing red hair and clear blue eyes that mirrored a bright sunny sky, some would say that she's the exact embodiment of a Southern summer, but for all her warm appearance, her attitude, particularly towards Jon, was as cold as the Northern winter.

Nevertheless, Jon still greeted her. "Good morning, Aunt Cat."

A terse nod and a taut smile were all he got for a reply.

That was good enough for him, he thought. At least, she didn't completely ignore him this time.

In that same moment, his other two cousins came bounding in the kitchen - Robb, loud as usual and skipping about as if his feet had springs attached to them; and Sansa, still in her pink sleeping dress and matching pink fluffy slippers, walking in with a soft and whimsical gait. Her auburn hair was already combed neatly, a stark contrast to the disheveled state of both Robb and Arya's.

"Hey, Jon! Good morning!" Robb greeted him first with sincere warmth and zeal that was enough to compensate for his mother's frigidity.

Jon smiled in return.

Sansa greeted him as well. And although the greeting was a bit more reserved than her brother's, it was nonetheless better than her mother's.

Catelyn's taut smile turned into a genuine one upon seeing the rest of her children. She bent down to pick Arya, who was already standing beside her, and balanced her on her hip, before bending down again to let Robb and Sansa greet her good morning with a kiss on her cheek.

"Good morning, my little darlings." she beamed at each of them.

All the while, Jon was just quietly observing on the sidelines, watching the exchange between mother and children... But in his mind, he pictured another woman... A woman with raven hair and deep blue eyes, fussing around the kitchen to make him heart-shaped pancakes; a woman who's as radiant as a star and as warm as a Dornish summer, beaming with a bright smile that was all for him.  

* * *

The floral garden of the Stark estate is a picturesque place made even more beautiful by the bright morning light.

The vivid green leaves and lush grasses, which were still misty with dewdrops, glistened under the bright rays of the sun. Countless blooms showered the whole place in different vibrant colours: pinks, reds, purples, yellows and oranges. The sky was a serene blue and little birds, perched on tree branches, chirped happily around them.

It's almost like a painting with its idyllic splendor.

And just like most of their mornings, the Stark family has opted to have their breakfast out in that very patch of paradise.

Lyarra Stark loves this part of their home and would even go so far as to state that this is the most beautiful place in all the Seven Cities of Westeros - even more beautiful than the renowned gardens of the Tyrells.

She had made it a point to always have their first meal of the day here in this particular slice of the estate, because she believes that its relaxing ambience puts everyone in a good mood and a bright aura. And how right she was, for one certainly can't help but feel blissful in this place.

Right at the heart of the garden, under the quaint and vine-twisted pergola, a white table had been set up and laden with arrays of food that smelled so delicious, it made Jon's mouth water.

At the head of the table, his grandfather sat, perusing a newspaper, while he absently sipped his tea - or coffee? Jon wasn't sure which. Beside him, on his right, Grandma Lyarra was nibbling on scones. Next to her was Uncle Brandon, whispering something in Aunt Catelyn's ear that had earned him a light smack on the arm. Jon would've thought that they were having an argument had it not been for the wide grin that stretched his uncle's lips and the shy blush that bloomed on his aunt's cheeks. Beside her, sat his young Uncle Benjen who was passionately wolfing down the heap of eggs and sausages on his plate.

On his grandfather's left, sat Robb who was busily drowning his stack of heart-shaped pancakes with maple syrup; followed by himself, and then Arya, who was perched on her high chair, being fed with fruits and porridge by her Nanny Mordane. She keeps on throwing pieces of fruits at her nanny, much to the old woman's exasperation. Next to her was Sansa, quietly minding her food, ever the proper little lady that she is.

Everyone was in particularly good spirits, it seems. And Jon can't help but smile as he observed his family and surroundings. 

 _It really is a beautiful day_. Would that his father and Aunt Lyanna were here, this day would have been perfect.

But alas, that was not to be, because they were both quite far away. One was across the Narrow Sea and the other at the Vale.

About a year ago, at the behest of Grandpa Rickard, his Aunt Lyanna was sent to the Vale to study at The Eyrie Academy, much to Jon's dismay.

Lyanna Stark had been Jon's closest confidante and the closest thing he has to a mother, despite her being only eleven years older than him. She had been his very first teacher. From simply tying his shoelaces to counting numbers and memorizing the alphabet, it had been her who taught him all those things. She also used to read him bedtime stories all the time and Jon misses that terribly... Well, he misses _her_. As simple as that.

His father, on the other hand, had left to take care of business again, as what his Grandpa Rickard had said. He's currently in some place called Myr in Essos.

Jon had been still deeply asleep when he left almost a week ago, so he wasn't even able to say a simple goodbye or wish him a safe trip. While Ned, not wanting to disturb his son's peaceful slumber, had merely planted a kiss on his forehead before leaving. When he had woken up that morning, looking for his father, they only told him that he has left and won't be back for a few days or a week at most.

He was used to his father's business trips, by now, but that doesn't mean that he no longer felt sad over his absence. He still misses him everytime he's away.

Jon shook those thoughts away before they could further dampen the bright mood he was in and focused on finishing the food on his plate, instead.

As he did so, his grandfather gruffly cleared his throat, thus promptly catching his attention. He looked up to see him pensively rubbing his thickly bearded chin as he continued to peruse the morning papers.

His grandfather has quite an imposing appearance, Jon observed; a formidable figure that radiated an air of command. But for all that, he's a rather warm and, at times, boisterous man.

He started folding his newspaper then and insouciantly placed it on the table, before pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his aquiline nose.

"Robb, exchange seats with Jon, please." he said suddenly, causing everyone at the table to look up at him; the clinking of silver on porcelain, stopping abruptly for but a second before eventually returning. Jon didn't know why, but he found that pause oddly amusing.

Robb obliged without question, hopping down from his chair and waiting for Jon to do the same. He slid down from his own chair then and took the one that his cousin has just vacated.

Jon ignored it, but he certainly didn't miss the harsh glint that flitted over his aunt's gaze as he did so.

When they were both finally settled, his grandfather reached over to put a hand on his shoulder, clasping lightly as a fond smile lit his face. "So, lad, what would you like for your birthday? It is tomorrow, is it not?"

His eyes widened a tad and he merely muttered a barely audible "Oh", only realizing what day it is. His birthday is tomorrow. He had forgotten about that. 

_Or maybe, he's just deliberately trying to forget..._

"Ah, how time flies. It seems only yesterday when you were still but a wee bundle I used to carry in my arms." his Grandma Lyarra reminisced, smiling wistfully at him. "And tomorrow you'll be another year older."

"You'll be eight, Jon!" It seems that Robb was way more excited than Jon felt. With the way he had said that, one would think that he was the one turning eight.

"Awya wants to be eight!" the little girl suddenly yelled, catching everyone's attention.

Catelyn opened her mouth, about to chide her youngest daughter for her manners, or lack thereof, but Sansa beat her to it.

"It's impolite to yell, Arya, especially while we're eating." she said haughtily, uncannily sounding so much like her mother, despite her tiny, squeaky voice.  

Arya, in an act of childish defiance, impertinently crossed her arms over her chest as she blew raspberries at her older sister.

"Arya." her mother said with a warning tone, making the little girl pout and sulk deeper into her high chair with her shoulders hunched exaggeratedly. She had even topped the look off with an unrepentant glare.

Brandon only shook his head, grinning amusedly at his youngest daughter's penchant for the dramatics.

"So, does the birthday boy have any particular request?" His grandfather asked again, rousing everyone from the momentary distraction.

What did he want?

 _Nothing that can possibly be given to him_ , he thought miserably. _Unless one of them can bring back a person that has long been dead..._

"Grandma Lyarra's lemon cakes would be nice." he said instead, ever polite and beaming with a smile that was as bright as it was feigned.

He appreciated his family's thoughtfulness, he really did, and he was grateful for it, but he's just never seen his birthday as a cause for celebration. Truth be told, he'd much rather be left alone in his room or at the Godswood Cemetery to talk to his mother (or to her tombstone, at least). After all, it wasn't just his birthday; it was also the anniversary of her death.

Quite ironic, really. It was a day where one life was given yet another was taken. He wondered what his father truly thought of it. Would he rather celebrate or mourn the day? Make merry or grieve?...

Perhaps, both? And since it was that, then maybe they just cancel out the significance of each other, making it nothing but an ordinary day. Regular just like all the rest. So, there isn't really any reason for any kind of commemoration - neither happy nor sad.

His melancholy thoughts were doused when he heard Sansa's squeaky voice, agreeing with him enthusiastically as she bounced in her seat. "Yes, yes, lemon cakes!"

"Then I'll make plenty of lemon cakes for tomorrow." Grandma Lyarra acquiesced. "What else?"

"Awya wants steak!" Arya's little voice chimed in, inadvertently making her father laugh.

"Aye, I second that!" Brandon agreed. "But not for Jon's birthday, Arya. It would be pretty odd to serve steak at a kid's party. Later for dinner, maybe?"

"Like father, like daughter." Grandma Lyarra remarked with mirth as she shook her head.

"As the little lady wishes, we'll have steak for dinner." Grandpa Rickard announced blithely.

"But Awya is not a lady!" Arya protested in that adorably petulant way of hers, her little arms still crossed over her chest.

"Oh? And what would you rather be called then, little one?" Their grandfather asked, playing along.

"A brat?" Robb teased.

"No!" she said, huffing and frowning.

"A street urchin?" her brother goaded further.

She shook her head vehemently. "NO!"

"Oh, I know! A horse!"

"No! Awya is a dwywolf!" she growled and howled, much to everyone's amusement.

"Ah, of course, Arya the direwolf pup." their grandmother fondly agreed, chuckling lightly.

"You're just as spirited as your Aunt Lyanna, child." their grandfather remarked with a wistful tone, before turning his attention back to Jon and putting a hand on his shoulder once more.

His previously cheerful countenance had dropped slightly then and turned into a more sympathetic one as he leaned closer to Jon and said in a placid voice, "I'm sorry your father isn't yet back."

Jon could only nod in response.

"But I'm certain that he'll make it in time for your birthday celebration tomorrow, so you need not fret."

"I'm not fretting, Grandpa." He said, knowing that that wasn't exactly true.

"Ah, but you're starting to have that broody look on your face again." His grandfather grumbled lightheartedly. "Then again, don't all Starks look that way." He added as an afterthought and Jon concurred with a smile.

"We'll give him a call later, if you want..."

His smile grew wider at that, showing how delighted he is with his grandfather's suggestion. His grandfather's mien, however, only grew slightly serious.  

"You do understand that your father needs to take care of the business first, do you not?" He asked.

"Yes, I understand, Grandpa." He answered politely.

"It's a taxing job, what your father does." he said, pausing thoughtfully before continuing, "But he's a very dedicated man. You're a lot like your father when he was your age - quiet and pensive, that boy. It's like being thrown in the past and seeing your father as a little lad again, every time I look at you." 

Then, gazing at his eldest grandson with discerning eyes, Rickard Stark said without reluctance, "I am confident that you will be as dedicated as he is once you take over the company, Jon."

Jon was still too young to fully grasp the heft of what his grandfather was telling him. In fact, it had him a bit confused, but he, nevertheless, gave his grandfather a faint smile and a small nod.

Rickard Stark ruffled his grandson's tumble of dark curls affectionately, saying, "But, well, it would still be quite a long time before that happens. I only wish that I'm still alive when it finally does." The old man smiled, making the corners of his eyes crinkle.

From across the table, Catelyn Stark sat rigid, intently listening to their conversation and upon hearing what her good-father had said, her eyes immediately flickered meaningfully over to her husband.

Brandon, also overhearing the conversation and noticing the look his wife was giving him, stiffened in response. He threw back a sideways glance, along with a surreptitious shake of his head which clearly implies dismissal. Most likely, he was telling her through those discreet signals that she should just drop it - a silent communication between husband and wife.

All the other children were completely oblivious to the tension that permeated the air after that furtive exchange. Benjen went on with his eager chewing and Sansa gingerly poked at the food on her plate. Robb as well minded his food, while Arya played with hers.

Even Rickard and Lyarra, whose attention was still on their grandchild who was about to celebrate his birthday, seem to be unaware.

But Jon regarded everything with keen eyes.

He's always been an observant child and he notices the littlest of things around him. Just like how he noticed the way his aunt's lips pursed and the awkwardness that tinged his uncle's throat-clearing. The implications of their movements, subtle as they may be, were there to see and Jon watched it all with curious interest.

He easily surmised that his grandfather's blatant and seemingly final declaration earlier has everything to do with the sudden unease that settled over their heads like dark, looming clouds.

The sudden shift in the atmosphere unnerved him...

But then, Benjen, the Seven bless him, broke the tension when he suddenly choked on the food he unreservedly kept on shoving in his mouth, making him spew spittle and masticated food bits all over Sansa's face.

"Ew, Uncle Benjen! Ew!" she cried shrilly while squeamishly wiping at her face.

That had sent Arya into a fit of giggles, while both Robb and Jon had their hands pressed against their mouth to stifle their chortles.

"Sorry, Sans!" Benjen managed to say in between his coughing. By that time, Nanny Mordane was already beside Sansa, helping her wipe her face and clicking her tongue as she did so.

"Oh, Ben, how many times do I have to tell you to eat slowly?" Lyarra chided. "It's like the Others are always after you when you're eating."

Benjen could only mutter a sheepish apology.

"Sorry, mum..." He had said, to which Lyarra merely shook her head. 

She sighed and then, with a nonchalant wave of her hand, dismissed the interruption entirely. "Anyway, back to Jon's birthday..."

"Do we really have to celebrate it?" Jon cut in timidly.

His grandmother turned to him, a small frown creasing her forehead. "Of course, dear. We've always had."

But it was the day Mum died, he had wanted to say then, but he gave her a small smile, instead, as he mumbled a quiet "Okay."

"You don't look too happy..." his grandmother noted with obvious concern.

"No, I am. It's just... I just wish Dad and Aunt Lya were here." _That was true enough._

"We could always give your aunt a call," she said, giving him an assuring smile. "And your father will be here, don't worry. He won't miss your birthday. I'm sure he'll make it in time for the party."

He could only nod meekly. At least, that was something he could look forward to.

"It will be a small one, with just the whole family and some of your friends, maybe... if that's another one of your concerns?" she added with a knowing smile.

Before he could say anything, however, Sansa suddenly chimed in, "Can I invite my friends, too?"

"Yeah, yeah, and mine!" Robb interjected, his head bobbing in agreement.

"Ask Jon. It's his party." their grandmother said, making his cousins turn to him with expectant eyes.

Jon didn't have friends outside the family, so he didn't have anyone to invite, anyway. He supposed that Robb and Sansa could invite anyone to their heart's content...

He shrugged offhandedly. "That's okay. You could invite your friends..." _With the exception of Theon Greyjoy_ , he had almost added, but thought better of it.

At that, his two cousins beamed brightly, promptly reciting the names of the friends they plan to invite to Jon's party, before their grandmother's voice, once more, rang clear over their excited gushing. 

"Since it will be a small party, preparation will be fairly easy. I'd still need all the help I could get, though." She said indicatively.

Robb was the first to raise his hand, ever eager and bursting with energy. "I will help!"

"Me too!" seconded Sansa, who appears to have completely gotten over the whole incident with his young uncle earlier.

And then lastly, Arya, wanting to follow the example of her older siblings, chirped excitedly, "Me! Me! Me!" Everyone was quite certain that she didn't even have a single idea about what she was agreeing to.

"I'd like to help, too, Grandma." Jon voiced.

But Grandma Lyarra shook her head. "It's your birthday. Let us do all the work, dear."

"But I'd really like to help. I have nothing else to do anyway." He insisted.

A small sigh left her lips as she looked at Jon thoughtfully, before she finally conceded. "Ah, it's your birthday. How can I say no?"

Clasping her hands together and smiling warmly at her grandchildren, she then concluded, "Very well, all four of you will help me make the lemon cakes."

That had been the end of that discussion, much to Jon's relief, and they all finished their breakfast fairly uneventfully thereafter.

* * *

Later that morning, Jon decided to pay his mother a visit. It could be said that it has always been his tradition to do so and that before going, he would always first gather a bunch of flowers from his Grandma Lyarra's garden to offer to his mother's grave.

He looked for the star-shaped magenta blooms that he knew was his mother's favourite. His father had told him that once when they came to pick flowers for her together one day.

Finally finding those pretty and fragrant blooms, he delicately clipped eight of them along with a few other kinds, and then tied them altogether into a simple bouquet with a violet ribbon. It was her favourite colour. His father had also told him that.

And so, finished with all those, he then went on his way.

He took the path he had accidentally discovered one day when he went exploring in the vast woods of the Stark estate. It was a longer one, but he preferred taking that particular route to the cemetery, mostly because of the place's utter beauty.

He loved the rich verdant foliage and the thick smell of damp earth mingling with the cool wind that welcomed him when he got to the forest. Beams of sunlight peeked through the copious assemblage of leaves. Overhead, they look like a myriad of perforations sparkling golden and appearing as though they were stars amidst a sky of green. A bed of soft moss covered the entire forest floor and some clung onto massive tree trunks and protruding roots.

He took in the wild splendor of the whole place with wonder-filled eyes and thought that wandering through the Stark woodlands truly is an enthralling and mystical experience.

After a while of traversing the dense cluster of trees, he came upon a tall and ornate wrought iron fence that skirted a vast clearing. His lips lifted into a satisfied grin, knowing that he has finally reached his destination.

From a few steps ahead, a missing rail from the fence has left a gap wide enough for him to pass through. He crouched and squeezed through the small space until he finally stepped foot into the Godswood Cemetery. Then, after dusting off the dirt that clung to his shirt, he proceeded to head to the direction of his mother's grave, passing gloomy dark grey stone tablets that dotted the whole place along the way.

When he got there, he immediately put the bundle of flowers in her tombstone vase and then, with his legs crossed, he finally sat down on the grass, facing his mother's headstone.

He started plucking the grass beside him absently as he spoke. "Hey, mum..." he began.

"It's my birthday tomorrow."

 _… And the anniversary of your death_ , he added silently. For some reason, he can't bring himself to say that out loud.

"I decided to come earlier. We're probably going to be really busy with the party Grandma's planning for tomorrow, so I'm not sure if I'd be able to visit you then." He explained, and then paused as though he's waiting for a reply, or perhaps, just letting the wind carry his words and hoping that they would be delivered to wherever his mother is.

"It's solely their idea." He spoke again after a while. "I didn't really want a party... Or any kind of celebration, really."

"Parties only make me feel... uncomfortable." He mumbled, looking down at the piece of grass he was picking at with his fingers. "You already know why. I've already told you before. But it's nice of them to plan it, I guess. It only means that they care, right?"

He paused again, staring at one of the dates engraved on his mother's gravestone - _that date_ \- and just wallowing in the silence, before he decided to break it once more.

"Anyway, I brought you your favourite flowers." He said, a small smile now lighting his face. "Aunt Lya would probably scold me for picking and 'killing' those flowers if she were here... Well, you've met her. You probably know how she is." He can't help but let the smile on his face grow bigger as he thought of his Aunt Lya with all her endearing quirks.

"I really miss her though. Just like how I miss you."

It's rather strange, really - missing someone who you haven't even met once in your life. But he felt it all the same. The absence of his mother was so palpable in his life, it's almost like he's actually missing a part of himself; like a tangible feeling deep within him - a hollow pit in his gut.

"Oh, by the way, Daddy wasn't able to come today. He's in Essos dealing with business stuff again... but Grandpa and Grandma said that he'll be back tomorrow. Maybe we could visit again when he gets back."

After that first time, and with the memory of that departing promise he made to his mother's grave, it had become so much easier to face her. Not that they actually face each other. It was just her grave, but nevertheless, he could almost feel her presence every time he visited.

He went on talking to his mother about everything and anything - from the most remarkable to the most mundane of things; he laughed when he told her about how his Uncle Ben spat his food all over Sansa's face earlier and then waved his hands about with animated gusto as he recounted all of his adventures and explorations in his newly discovered forest.

He babbled on until he can no longer think of anything else to say. Sighing and smiling dreamily, he leant back with his elbows propped behind him; his eyes drifting close as he inhaled the soothing breeze that surrounded him. He was just about to recline farther onto the grass when he suddenly heard a cry echoing from a distance. His eyes snapped open at the sound and he jolted up. 

It didn't sound like a cry of distress, or that of terror. In fact, it sounded more like a defiant battle cry, so it wasn't really any cause for alarm... well, no, not exactly... but Jon, nonetheless, found himself slowly standing up and warily walking towards the direction of the noise, if only to sate his curiosity.

A flash of silver weaving through the sparse cluster of trees up ahead caught his attention. Walking closer, he saw that the flash of silver was actually a girl.

She was roaring and shouting.

_Dracarys!... Slay all the White Walkers!... Fire and blood!..._

The things she was saying and doing didn't make much sense to Jon, but even so, he stood transfixed, staring at the strange little girl with a bemused frown.

He was still a few feet away from her, so he remained thus far unnoticed...

He observed that the white cotton dress she was wearing had been heavily wrinkled and streaked with grass stains (from her wild frolicking, Jon surmised). Her feet, clad in muddy red sneakers, bounced against the soft bed of dewy grass as she ran about with springing steps. A pair of crooked and tattered black wings, dangling on her back, flapped awkwardly along with her movements as she swung a thin branch around like a sword. Her hair, a tangled mess of spun silk, billowed behind her like a rippling silver banner as a gust of wind brushed by. And her eyes... they were of the most unusual colour. It made him think of his box of crayons, or rather, one of the colours in that box. Periwinkle, was it? He wasn't sure to which hue it leaned more into. _Blue or purple?_

Busy contemplating the colour of her eyes, Jon failed to notice that the girl has stopped moving. And so, with a start, he realized that she now stood stock still; those periwinkle orbs of hers gazing straight into his grey ones as a faint trace of scarlet danced on her cheeks.

They just stood there, engaged in a staring match for who knows how long, when the corners of her lips slowly lifted into a hesitant smile that showed a lovely dent on her right cheek...

And it's weird, but upon seeing that smile, Jon could have sworn that his heart just flipped. 

 

**Notes:**

* * *

 I know, I mentioned in a previous comment that I wanted Jon and Catelyn to have an amicable relationship in this story, but then I realized that I have to add more drama and complication in Jon's life to make his melancholy personality more believable, so yeah...

Anyway, what do you guys think?

I'd really love to hear your thoughts on this. Your feedbacks motivate me. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been sitting on my laptop, gathering dust, for quite some time now. It still needs more (like, a LOT more) polish, but it’s better than nothing I guess… so, here you go. Heh.

It wasn’t yet dark when they reached their destination, with the sky just starting to turn into a hazy palette of pinks, purples and oranges, the twilight hues softly kissing the dusky horizon where the sun lay halved like a giant wedge of peach. But along both sides of the cobbled pathway they were currently traversing, quaint lamp posts were already lit, casting the whole place an old world glow.

As Dany gazed out the car window and observed the stretch of stately houses they were passing by, it occurred to her that she had been wrong in her assumptions. As it turns out, Red Keepville isn’t as she had pictured it to be, because this place was even more affluent than what she had in mind. So much so that it almost seemed unreal. Suffice it to say, Red Keepville is the very picture of extravagance.

Every house – or _mansion,_ rather, because house was too humble a word – they came upon was pillared and humungous and resplendently decorated with either carved marble or gilt statues. It was certainly beautiful if a bit ostentatious.

That one mansion they just passed was, indeed, quite fancy-looking, with its whole façade cast in bright amber floodlights, making it gleam like a palace of gold against the backdrop of the quickly darkening sky. Gilded salient lions stood sentry atop its crimson gate posts and a massive and intricate letter L had been fashioned in the middle of its wrought iron gates.

She wondered idly what the letter stood for. _Perhaps it’s for_ Lions _, pertaining to the proud animals that flanked its gates._

The next mansion they passed was romantically lavish. It looked arresting and immaculate in its stark whiteness and was braced by massive marble pillars elaborately designed with foliage carvings. The perfectly trimmed verdant hedges bordering its sprawling driveway were dappled with vibrant yellow-gold roses, leading to a three-tiered marble fountain circled by a flowerbed of the same blooms.

The one after that had a dark and imposing façade – a sharp contrast to the previous one’s brightly appealing front. Its gates and fences were black and gold wrought iron, with lamp globes cradled in gilded stag horns serving as the post finials.

“Impressive, innit, lass?” their chauffeur asked, looking at her with a friendly grin through the rearview mirror.

She could only nod in response as she continued to gaze around, her head sticking out of the car window like an excited puppy.

Every mansion they passed boasted the same flamboyance as the last and Dany can’t help but gape in awe. She’s seen a fair share of wealthy people’s houses before – their house back in Dragonstone was just as grand after all – but seeing them lined up next to each other was an entirely different experience altogether. She never thought that she’d be this fascinated just by the sight of houses. Then again, it wasn’t just that. This was impeccable artistry and architecture. So, there she was, slack-jawed and wide-eyed in appreciation.

And then…

Comparable to the way the sun slowly rises over the horizon at dawn, a looming edifice of red brick gradually came into view, simpler yet somehow grander than any of the ones she has previously seen. And in that instance, she just knew…

That was their new home.

Well, it wasn’t exactly new, seeing as it’s one of their family’s ancestral properties and they’ve had it for generations, but this is the first time she’s been here and actually seen it.

She wasn’t certain what it was about this particular mansion that told her this was it – just some gut-feeling perhaps – but even if that something hadn’t been enough of an indicator, what greeted her next would definitely have been the clincher.

For there, standing sentinel in the middle of the manor forecourt and gleaming under the orange rays of the setting sun was an obsidian likeness of their family’s sigil – a magnificent fountain fashioned in the image of a three-headed dragon, with jets of water spouting from each maw instead of fire.

A delighted smile grew across Dany’s face as she stared at the stunning ornamental structure. _Dragonglass_ , she thought with nostalgic fondness. _It’s like a piece of their old home._

But her attention was pulled from the splendid work of art when a loud groan suddenly sounded from in front of them, made by the hinges of the massive bronze gates being opened. The driveway was revealed, stretching wider into view, and the car eased its way through the graveled path, drawing nearer towards the red colossal mansion they will now be living in. She gawked at its size which looked even more intimidating up close.

 _Surely, they wouldn’t need that much space_ , she thought incredulously.

Row upon row of tall, arched and mullioned windows paned with stained glass ran across the front of the impressive structure, which she guessed to be about four stories high, and on its center was an expansive driveway portico that roofed the entryway.

The entryway was, in itself, very impressive. It was an elevated set of heavy double doors with intricate carvings depicting the Tale of Aegon the Conqueror. This particular Valyrian legend has always been a favourite of the Targaryens, because of its significance to the family. No one knows for certain, but the well-known centuries-old lore is said to have been written by one of their ancestors.

Atop the portico was a balcony fenced by an elegant balustrade, the glass doors left opened invitingly, allowing its gauzy drapes to billow out in an enchanting flutter. Then, along the corners of the manor’s red brick façade, flowering vines clung delicately, giving the whole place a faintly eerie yet delightful charm.

Dany looked at her brother, expecting to see a reaction that would mirror her own, but was only disappointed to find him leaning his head against the window, looking bored and completely unimpressed. She looked away, frowning and thinking that if only Rhaegar was here, he would have certainly shared her enthusiasm.

The car stopped right under the portico where a few of the household staff stood awaiting their arrival. Most of their staff, who had decided to move with them to King’s Landing, had gone here, along with Mum and Dad, ahead of her and Viserys a week prior, so as to make certain that everything is already properly settled before their arrival.

An old man with a perfectly-trimmed ( _much like those hedges she saw earlier,_ Dany thought with a giggle) snow-white beard stood at the head of the assembled group, an earnest smile writ large upon his face. His stance, despite his age, still showed strength, his back straight and his poise reminiscent of knights in olden times. Sometimes, he reminds Dany of the Kingsguards of Westeros.

Dany smiled back widely at the old man from the car window, her eagerness and glee apparent at seeing him.

Scarcely containing her excitement, she ran up to the man the moment she got out of the car and launched herself towards him, her skinny arms wrapping around his waist.

The old man staggered at the impact, barely catching her, as a small _oof_ escaped his lips. He chuckled then, amused at the girl acting so much like a bouncing ball of fiery energy.

“Hello to you too, _Little Khaleesi_.” he greeted, lightly patting her silver-blonde head. She looked up, grinning brightly at the endearing moniker. He had taken to fondly calling her that after she, in all her typical gushing enthusiasm, told him about a book she had read a while back called _The Great Grass Sea,_ which was a story about the adventures of a young exiled princess who then eventually rose to greatness as the Khaleesi of The Great Grass Sea. In the story, the Khaleesi also happened to have hatched three dragons amidst a great pyre and that, alone, easily makes the tale one of her favourites.

“But wasn’t it just a week ago when you last saw me?” the old man went on saying. “With the way you greeted me, it’s as though you haven’t seen me in a whole year.”

“Oh, but I missed you, Mr. Barry! You’ve no idea how boring my whole week had been. No one wants to listen to my story-telling but you!”

Mr. Barry – or Mr. Selmy to most – has always been referred to by the other household staff as their _majordomo_ , which means that he was a chief steward of some sort. Rather antiquated a term, that. Also, Dany would much prefer for Mr. Barristan Selmy to be referred to as their uncle or some such. He’s actually been in service to her family since Dany could remember. She’d been told that he’s been with the Targaryens before Rhaegar was born – before Aerys and Rhaella were married even – so she rather thought of him more as a part of their extended family than anything else.

Not long after that short reunion, Mr. Barry then ushered them into the house. The heavy doors were opened to reveal a circular foyer with a gleaming white marble floor and in its middle stood an antique table where a tall flower arrangement was set as the centerpiece. Wrapped around the entrance hall in a semi-circle was a double staircase that curved to meet towards the same landing, where the glow of the setting sun streamed in through a twenty-foot tall stained glass window. Above them, adorned with elegant plasterwork, was a domed ceiling from which a crystal chandelier woven with delicate chains of gold and strings of pearls was suspended.

All Dany could think of was that the glory of the manor’s façade doesn’t even begin to compare to that of the interior. Their new house was astonishing.

She happily trailed after Mr. Barry, while her brother, who had only deemed to give the old man a curt nod of greeting, silently stalked to the opposite direction all on his own.

A moment later as they walked, she called to Mr. Barry uncertainly. “Uhm, Mr. Barry?”

He hummed in response.

“Where are Mum and Dad?”

He looked back at her over his shoulder, a kind smile stretching beneath his thick beard.

“They’re upstairs, resting, I believe.” he answered. “And they also needed to discuss a few more things regarding the whole move, I heard. I’ll let them know that you’ve arrived. But they asked not to be disturbed, so, in the meantime, let me give you a tour of the house. It’s quite big, if you haven’t yet noticed.”

“It is.” She nodded in wide-eyed agreement.

“Wouldn’t want you getting lost around here.” he added jokingly. “And then, after, I’ll show you to your room, so you could get some rest.”

“What about Viserys?”

“Oh, I’m fairly certain that Viserys can manage exploring on his own.” He waved a hand, and then added in a conspiratorial whisper, “And, well, we both know that that brother of yours could be, er, quite a difficult child to deal with.”—he cleared his throat—“Come along now, so you can still have ample time after I show you around to freshen up before dinner. And in any case, if your brother gets lost, someone’s bound to find him and show him around as well, so you needn’t worry about that…”

Dany doubted that someone would be willing to take on that particular task though. Mr. Barry was right, she’s quite aware of how vexing a company her brother could be. It had actually been a pleasant surprise that he remained in a relatively good mood the whole journey from Dragonstone. If it were any other day, Viserys would probably have caused a scene with another one of his notorious tantrums. She could only thank the gods that nothing of the sort actually happened, especially since their mother hadn’t been with them and she seems to be the only one who can calm him.

She didn’t voice her thoughts though, and instead simply nodded at Mr. Barry.

With that, the old man proceeded to show her around, acting very much like a pseudo-tour guide to their palatial home.

 

* * *

 

 

Dany finally saw her parents over dinner that night and her mother, doting as ever, greeted her with a fierce hug and a rain of kisses all over her face before she could even get to her seat. Dany had giggled then, kissing her and hugging her back with as much zeal.

Viserys had gotten the same welcome, but he wasn’t as appreciative of the kisses as Dany was, and as was typical of an adolescent boy, stated that he wasn’t a little child anymore to be given such embarrassing show of affection. All the same, he returned their mother’s hug, even throwing Dany a gloating look and making it apparent that, regardless of his earlier claim, he reveled in all kinds of attention.

Their father, on the other hand, had merely acknowledged them both with a quick and listless side hug as he asked them about their travel, to which Viserys had grumbled a reply.

“It was awful.” he said. “Why did I even have to be stuck with Dany anyway? I should have gone with you.”

Their father harrumphed, already sitting back down on his place at the head of the dining table.

“What’s important is that you both made it here safely. Stop complaining.” their father scolded, his tone glib.

“And I don’t like you talking that way about your sister.” their mother added.

Viserys frowned in an almost petulant manner, but he didn’t say anything more. Seemingly rebuked, he bowed his head low, his hair casting a shadow over his eyes, but not even that shadow can conceal the ire that blazed behind his lilac gaze, which at the moment was directed at Dany.

“I’m sorry.” he mumbled almost robotically, his hands curling into fists under the table.

“Crime rates in Westeros have been going up according to the news.” their father muttered to no one in particular, shaking his head, as he spread a table serviette over his lap. And then, in a very low and acrimonious voice, he added, “Thank the gods you got here without coming across any harm. No one can be trusted these days.”

Hearing that, Rhaella cast her husband a worried glance, perturbed at his increasing paranoia. She knew that there was more to those words than they seem. She knew that Aerys couldn’t yet move on from what he’d been through. In truth, she didn’t think that he ever would. Not for a very long time, at least.

The kidnapping incident in Duskendale, which had happened two years ago, was something they couldn’t even talk about without getting into an argument. It certainly changed Aerys for the worse. If she was being completely honest, even she was still shaken by that crime done to her husband and she still very much feared that their children could be next. Aerys had been very fortunate indeed to have been rescued from his kidnappers. They were indebted to Mr. Selmy for that. If it wasn’t for the old man, who had come up with the plan to save her husband, Aerys might have never been freed from the abduction, or worse, he could have been killed.

Rhaella sighed, trying to erase the dismal thoughts from her head. She flicked her wrist in an attempt to appear unaffected and said, “Alright, enough of that. Let’s just eat now, shall we?”

Aerys harrumphed once more, but he eventually obliged and proceeded to focus on his dinner, albeit glowering and grunting all the while. The rest of them followed, but the mood had already become tense.

Dany tried to ignore it and focused on her food instead. She tried to think of happy thoughts, and as she did, her favourite brother was the first thing that came into her mind. She remembered Rhaegar telling her once over dinner that food tastes so much better when you eat it with your bare hands.

She smiled at the memory.

Feeling nostalgic and wanting to lighten the mood, Dany scooped some of the mashed potatoes from her plate with her bare fingers to eat it, next were the peas which she picked one by one and popped into her mouth, then the chicken meat she picked at and nibbled on little by little. And that was how she proceeded to eat the rest of her dinner.

Rhaella, upon noticing what her daughter was doing, exclaimed, “Daenerys!” She gave her a sharp chiding look, but then, not even a moment later, she chuckled, ruining the effect of her rebuke. Beside her, Aerys merely shook his head, sighed dejectedly, and muttered something that sounded like, ‘ _kids’_ and ‘ _savages_.’

“Rhaegar said that food tastes better when you eat it with your bare hands!” Dany said defensively. “And it’s true. You should try it!”

Her mother made a sound somewhere between a grumble and a sigh, a ghost of a smile still playing upon her lips, as she shook her head and mumbled, “What am I to do with you, you silly, silly girl?”

And as though she has just been praised, Dany’s lips stretched into a smug smile. That smile was all she needed to charm her mother and make her laugh out loud.

Viserys, however, grimaced in disgust and spat lowly so that only Dany could hear, “Ill-mannered pig!”

She ignored him, having long been used to his snide and unkind remarks, and kept smiling. This seemed to irritate him further, for a little later, Dany suddenly felt a sharp pinch on the side of her thigh. She pursed her lips, biting down a pained yelp, her eyes watering, as she quietly endured Viserys’ viciously twisting fingers.

When she couldn’t take the pain any longer, she pinched his arm back. _Hard._

She doesn’t even want to retaliate, she just wants Viserys to leave her alone, but he seems bent on provoking her contempt and making her life difficult.

He let go immediately, but Dany knew that this wouldn’t be the end of it.

He glared at her and she glared back.

Dany was certain that there will be a lot of changes in her life here, in their new home, but her relationship with her brother, it seems, will always remain the same.

 

* * *

 

 

Dany crinkled her nose at the weird and unpleasant smell lingering in the air as she sat by her bedroom’s window seat and stared silently at the intricate knot garden on the yard below.

It’s way past midnight. Around two o’clock in the morning if she had to guess. The sky was still star-speckled and hued the deepest indigo; and the pale moon still shone like a pearl that mirrored the luminescent silver of her hair.

She was quite dazed and tired from the travel earlier, but despite her exhaustion, she still wasn’t able to sleep a wink. Instead, she spent the entirety of the night just tossing and turning in her bed.

Dany still felt uneasy in her new room. She had felt the gnawing unfamiliarity of it on the very tips of her fingers from the moment she stepped inside. It was as if a tingle of restlessness had crept into her body and made her bones itch.

Her new room was, in fact, very pretty, but it also felt so strange. It doesn’t feel quite like… _hers_. Not yet. Of course, in time, she knew that the room would eventually grow on her, but right now, it just wasn’t sinking in yet.

So, there she sat, looking like a forlorn cat gazing wistfully through the window, completely dismissing the idea of sleep and favouring to just broodily observe the tranquil gardens outside as she thought about their old home.

Here, there’s none of the crisp and salty tang of the sea that the breeze carried through the windows, only the vague smell of musty closets and newly dried paint. The walls of her new room were bare and white. So unlike the walls of her room back in Dragonstone which were papered a dainty robin’s egg blue, lined with shelves filled to the brim with all of her fairytale books, and covered with all of the colourful drawings she made that her mother was so proud of no matter how poorly made they were.

In the middle of her new room was her timeworn canopy bed, with those old fluffy cloud pillows. They were the only familiar pieces in the room. Amidst all this newness, however, they looked lost and out of place. Her bed looked like a lone boat floating on a sea of white emptiness. In Dany’s mind, the memories the bed carried stood out against the impersonal feel of the place.

She remained sitting there by the window for hours, just morosely thinking about good old Dragonstone and all the memories it held, but when the beginning strands of sunlight came crawling over the horizon and slowly turned the dark sky into a foggy lilac, she, all of a sudden, jumped off from her perch and padded towards one corner of her room where her unpacked boxes of belongings were still haphazardly stacked.

She purposefully pulled, from behind one stack, a small box. Across one of its top flaps, the words: _Dany’s Favourite Things_ were written in her lopsided and loopy scrawl. She opened it and then rummaged through, pulling out several random items until finally finding what she was looking for – her old and ratty dragon wings. She fingered the tattered edges of the fabric, a small smile adorning her lips before she eventually shrugged it on.

Dany was a shy child most of the time and the old dragon wings had become a security blanket of some sort to her. It gave her the confidence she needed every time she wore it. Just like a magical talisman, the wings could transform the timid wisp of a girl into a brave dragon.

Her reason for donning the trusty dragon wings this very morning could be chalked up to her sudden whim to explore their new home – and maybe even the entirety of Red Keepville given the chance – while the whole household still slept.

Being a willful and spirited child, who has made it a habit getting into mischiefs, her parents had specifically warned her not to go out on her own, telling her that if she ever wants to play outside or explore, she should always have someone accompany her.

 

_“If you want to go exploring tomorrow,” her mother had said in that soft chiding voice of hers as she tucked her in bed. “remember to always have someone accompany you – your nanny, or Mr. Barry, perhaps. We’re new here besides, so you might get lost. I don’t want you wandering about on your own, do you understand?”_

_She had nodded then, assenting to her mother’s behests, and was eventually bid goodnight with a small smile and a light peck on her brow._

But, seeing as it was still too early for anybody else to be awake and the idea of going on an adventure with an expectedly fretful companion didn’t exactly sound too appealing, Dany merely brushed her parents’ worries aside and made up her mind to go on with her plans all by herself.

Decision made, she slipped on her favourite shoes and sneakily tiptoed outside her room, careful not to wake anyone up. Finally, she found the back door – a particular feat that took her quite a while to accomplish, what with the unreasonable expanse of their new house.

Dany’s face broke into a wide victorious grin as she stepped outside, the nippy morning breeze immediately reminding her that she should’ve changed into warmer clothes first or at least worn something over her thin sleeping dress. But she shrugged away the thought of going back inside just so she could change, wary of the risk of getting caught if she did. Instead, she merely rubbed her arms and then wrapped them around her middle to ward off the chill and give herself a semblance of warmth...

And then, she was off.

 

* * *

 

 

Dany couldn’t entirely remember how she got to this place.

All she remembered was that she had spotted a shiny pebble on the ground while she was walking and that she took fancy in kicking said pebble and following it wherever it went. Next thing she knew, she’s already standing in front of a towering wrought-iron arch that said _Godswood Cemetery._

Something niggled at the back of her mind, a voice telling her that she should be feeling worried now. Not only because she couldn’t even remember the way back to their house anymore, but because she’d surely be waking the dragon in her father (and, perhaps, even her mother) once he learns of this pickle she had gotten herself into and the fact that it was, once again, brought about by her willful disobedience.

But her curiosity and hankering for adventure got the better of her. And amusingly enough, she wasn’t even, in the slightest, troubled by either the looming punishment she was sure to face or by the foregone conclusion that she was utterly lost.

Her teachers back in Dragonstone used to comment a lot about how smart a child she is, but Mum and Rhaegar have always said that she’s more silly and impulsive than anything else. Dany does not – _could not_ – beg to differ.

The situation she found herself in at this very moment, as well as her decision to go inside the cemetery despite knowing that she should be finding her way back, only proved that her brother and mother were right.

She skipped along past the arched gateway – even humming a tune as she did so and picking a fallen tree branch she saw lying on the ground – blessedly unconcerned of the consequences her whims could bring.

With that piece of dead wood in her hand and the pair of tattered dragon wings on her back, she was transported into a fantastical realm where warrior queens and mythical creatures existed. She imagined herself the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea slaying ghastly creatures of ice as she rode astride her dragon’s back.

Absorbed in her pretend play, worries and thoughts of the real world were quickly forgotten and swept aside.

 

* * *

 

 

She was just about to slay another imaginary foe with her sword – or, precisely put, the dried piece of wood she clutched in her hand – when the feeling of being watched suddenly prickled her skin.

Coming to an abrupt halt, with a battle cry lodged in her throat, she tilted her head a little to the side. The slight shift in the angle of her vision allowed her to barely make out, from the corner of her eyes, a figure standing just about a few paces away from her. Such sudden presence of an audience startled Dany out of her wits, causing her to jump in fright and almost trip over the sharp rock that jutted from the soil in front of her. Being quite a nimble child though, she was able to sidestep the rock just in time.

Both a tad embarrassed at the almost accident and quite smug at avoiding it, she straightened her back and lifted her chin as she turned to the lurker with a light blush tinting her cheeks. And there, she saw a boy who appeared not much different from the stone slabs poking from the ground around them, what with all the grey clothing he donned.

An expression akin to perplexity was etched on his pale face and Dany would’ve found that endearing had it not been for the apprehension that has started to creep into her chest. She stared straight into deep, dark eyes that – she noted absently – matched the color of his clothes as she waited for his reaction. She dreaded the taunts that were about to come, for surely, this boy would be no different from all those mean kids back in Dragonstone.

 _Crazy Dany_ , they’d jeer at her whenever they would catch her in one of her pretend plays.

She supposed that there is some truth to that though. The Targaryens did have that kind of reputation after all. Almost everyone in the family had been touched by the _Crazy Fairy’s_ wand, she once heard her great-great (she wasn’t sure how many “greats” there should be) uncle Aemon say. Then there was also that adage her Grandpa Jae had told them about madness and greatness being two sides of the same coin and the gods flipping that coin everytime a Targaryen is born to determine whether they’d end up an exceptional being of great genius or a featherbrained cuckoo. Unfortunately, none of them turned out to be a genius, so that could only mean one thing…

Dany didn’t much care for that saying though. She was well aware of how much her grandfather tends to exaggerate, but there is nonetheless the undeniable fact that most of her family has a certain – to put it mildly – peculiarity.

First off, there was her Grandpa Jaehaerys, a flamboyant eccentric who’s probably the most bizarre old man in the entirety of Westeros; her great-great-so-on-and-so-forth-uncle Aemon who’s especially fond of speaking in riddles and so uncommonly enamored of birds he’s actually got a massive aviary built in his garden; her Dad who’s so unhealthily paranoid it’s borderline obsessive; Rhaegar, an archetypal tortured soul intellectual with a strange fascination for books, particularly those about dreams and ancient prophesies; and Viserys… well, Viserys _is_ Viserys. No need to elaborate on that one; then, there’s Dany herself, an overly imaginative child who’s got a penchant for soliloquies and has made it her playtime fun hacking and slashing at invisible foes, apparently.

But, the actuality of the Targaryens’ madcap tendencies aside, the taunts never even came.

This boy merely regarded her with curious eyes as he fiddled with the cuff of his sleeves and worried the inside of his lip.

Dany stared… and then stared some more until the boy started shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking quite uneasy under her scrutinizing gaze. Pitying him, she finally allowed a small smile to steal across her lips and she noticed the boy’s cheeks colour at this.

“Hello!” she blurted out, raising her makeshift sword in a waving gesture. She waited to hear a greeting in return, or glimpse a smile of acknowledgement at the very least, but the boy simply stood there, still fidgeting self-consciously.

She made her smile grow wider to encourage him and let him know that she was being friendly, but that seemed to have been the wrong move, for quite suddenly, he just…

Dashed off.

Not unlike a startled cat and so abrupt that he had tripped and fallen flat on his face. But then, managing to scramble up again, he proceeded to scamper away as fast as he could as though the Others were after him.

The smile on Dany’s face comically dropped and was immediately replaced with a befuddled frown.

She watched on as he disappeared into the distance, growing smaller and smaller until he was little more than the farthest tombstone her eyes could see – a mere grey blur that blended with all the other gravestones scattered around the cemetery.

It was silly, but it actually passed Dany’s mind that the wights and White Walkers of her imagination had somehow manifested into reality and were now standing behind her. That would explain why the boy suddenly took off running.

The thought brought a chill to her spine.

With dread-filled eyes, she cautiously swept her gaze around to make certain if that was the case. But neither a blue-eyed creature of ice nor a reanimated corpse was anywhere to be seen, only trees and grass and sepulchral stone slabs.

She let out the breath she was holding, relieved to find none of those ghastly beings.

What a pity about that boy though. Dany had actually hoped to ask him of directions back to Red Keepville. Also, it would have been quite nice to finally meet a new friend.

But, oh, well…

Shrugging, she simply brushed the matter off. And with her thoughts veering away from scary mythical creatures and skittish grey-eyed boys, she continued her prancing about.

It was a little later when she discovered that one of the pales in the iron fence that bordered the cemetery was missing, leaving a gap wide enough for a small child to wriggle through.

The gap was only slightly wider than her body but she knew that she could easily squeeze through the opening to get to the other side. She also knew that she shouldn’t be considering going to that other side, but what was Dany if not a whim-driven child?

And so, it was with such flight of fancy that she found herself indulging in yet another exciting quest – one that would most surely land her in another pickle.

Before long, Dany had already lowered herself on her knees, crawling on the ground and making her way to the other side of the fence. Once there, she scrambled up, grass and dirt clinging to her palms, dress and hair. She brushed them off absently, not exactly minding the way she looked and all but hopped her way into the forest before her.

Bright-eyed and head turning in every which way, she beheld her verdant surroundings, all the while _ooh_ ing _and aah_ ing in wonder.

Never has she been in a place like this one. Dragonstone, after all, was mostly sands and seas and sweeping skies. But, this here… this was the exact opposite: The moss-covered ground; the giant tree trunks and the canopies of rustling greeneries; the beams of golden sunlight slanting through their cracks; the rich smell of the earth and the nip of the forest-fresh wind; the twittering of birds and the sound of other woodland creatures she’d like to find.

All of these delighted her, urging her to explore and then explore some more, and finding that despite missing their old home where the sky was open and unconfined, and makes her feel free, she likes this place quite a lot; likes this pleasant feeling of being in a secluded haven, closed-off from everything else outside _._ She felt as though she belonged. And that, perhaps, making King’s Landing her home wouldn’t be as hard as she thought it would be.

But her enchantment – both for the grandiose mansions in Red Keepville, and this charming forest on the fringes of the Godswood Cemetery – was nothing compared to the enchantment she felt when she stumbled upon this tree standing before her, eclipsing the other trees around it in all its white-barked and crimson-leaved glory. Although, in truth, what enthralled Dany more had been the quaint little house built upon its low, thick branches, with its wood-shingled roof and plank walls, and the tyre swing hanging just below it.

Dany gazed up in awe at the red umbrella of leaves, down to the gnarled bark that looked as though a face had been carved upon its surface. It’s a bit creepy but, oddly enough, she liked it. Then she spotted a ladder that led to the treehouse trapdoor leaning askew against the tree’s pale trunk. She smiled that broad and toothy smile of hers – the one reserved for when she’s giddy with glee – already deciding to climb that ladder and knowing that this would only be the first time of many she’d be able to do that, for she has decided to claim this treehouse her own.

Unbeknownst to her, however, was that a certain grey-eyed boy had long been ahead of her in that regard.

 

* * *

 

**Just a disclaimer, you guys: no deliberate desecration whatsoever was involved in the making of that treehouse… (Alright, so, that treehouse built on a Weirwood tree may have been, well, sort of sacrilegious to the Old Gods. But, in this story, I’ve decided to make that particular religion a thing of the past – a belief consigned to oblivion through time. So, it’s practically nonexistent in this universe. As you might have already noticed, even the Starks keep referring to the Seven, so, yeah…)**

**Anyway, that’s not very important.**

**You know what’s more important? :D**

**_FEEDBACKS and KUDOS_! They give me life. So, if you would be so kind as to give me some, that’d be awesome. But as always, please be nice about your comments. I’m a fragile little flower. :***

**And here's a bonus:**

 

**Also, a drawing I made of a dragon-wings-wearing, tree-branch-sword-bearing little Dany! :D**


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part One of Jon's Birthday. :)

The midmorning sun shining down on the Stark residence was as pleasant as always, blithe in atmosphere as exuberant children ran about, playing free of care and carrying with them the tinkle of giggles and peals of laughter that made for a warmer day.

Missing from all this gaiety, however, was Jon, who was currently sitting on a bench in one of the more secluded parts of the gardens and having his preferred peace and quiet as he ate a generous slice of lemon cake made by his own surprisingly able hands -- and of four more pairs as well, namely, that of his three cousins' and their grandmother's -- though, one might argue that it was mostly just their Grandma who had done the actual baking while he and his cousins hadn't been much of a help at all, for they were only there to either watch the process in wide-eyed fascination or wreak havoc in the kitchens as they messily played with the ingredients.

He had just let out a blissful sigh, contentment in the form of a sweet yellow treat filling his tummy and his heart, when, out from the depths of Seven Hells, the bane of his existence decided to break that bliss and started hollering from behind him.

"Hey, Snow!" he called in all his galling arrogance. "Pass the ball back, will you?!" 

Upon hearing that familiar voice, Jon closed his eyes and took a deep steadying breath. He chose to ignore it, not looking back with blatantly feigned obliviousness, even as said ball rolled right by his feet. 

He stared at the black and white sphere, debating whether to goad the hollering boy and kick it away, farther from his reach. Just to get to rile him, no matter how petty the approach, was an immensely tempting idea. And this was his birthday party after all, so he supposed that he could do anything he wanted.

All he needed was a light flick of his foot and the ball would be lost amongst the thick, overgrown bushes in front of him.

_Just one flick..._

But then, ultimately, Jon decided against it, not wanting to stoop down to the irksome boy's level. He resolved to be the bigger man (regardless of the fact that they weren't yet men) but that still does not equate to him doing his bidding, or, at least, not until he asked nicely. So, with a heavy sigh, he remained undeterred and sat unmoving in his seat. 

 _Let him go hoarse from all his shouting,_ he thought uncharitably.

He regretted not telling Robb to refrain from inviting the lout to his birthday party. But, as was always the case, his consideration for his cousin's wishes won out, so he let him do as he pleased, which, in turn, resulted in his current predicament: Robb had, of course, invited Theon Greyjoy, the aggravating little arse -- _buttocks!_ he hastily corrected himself, remembering what his grandmother had told him about saying bad words -- that was the very reason for his current ill-temper, to his birthday party, leaving him with this unfortunate circumstance of having to endure the boy's infuriating presence on a day that he was supposed to be enjoying. 

The longer he sees the smug smirk that was permanently plastered on Theon's stupid face though, the more he regrets his decision. Jon chided himself for the umpteenth time that day, thinking that he really should have gone with his gut instinct.

It was a mystery to Jon how someone as amiable and charming as Robb could even be acquainted to such an abomination, let alone be good friends with him, yet there his cousin was, blissfully unaware of Jon's vexation and quite enjoying the party even more so than the birthday boy himself as he played football with said annoying friend.

Then again, wasn't that the point of being amiable and charming? Robb, the outgoing kid that he is, has always befriended almost everyone he meets, which would explain the number of kids who came to this party.

Jon didn't even know more than half of them.

Still, he doesn't understand why Robb was so fond of the slimy squid. Even Theon's own family barely tolerated him. In fact, Jon was fairly certain that they had already disowned him, which was probably why he spends so much time here at their home. And the Starks had practically adopted him, much to Jon's dismay.

But he didn't want to waste any more of his time contemplating the matter further, so he decided to just shrug it off.

He resumed savouring his lemon cake even as Theon continued to test his mettle. From behind him, the pest has obnoxiously started whistling and clapping to get his attention, as though he was calling a dog, but Jon simply pretended not to hear. He refused to give him his attention.

"Snow!" he was yelling incessantly now and Jon could just feel the hint of provocation in his tone. 

Jon paused, a yellow morsel halfway raised to his mouth, as his eyes narrowed. It was pretty obvious that Theon is trying to get a rise from him, but he knew better than to give him that satisfaction.

"Hey, you deaf?" he asked rudely and then mock-sang, "Snooooow!"

 _Snow_. Jon rolled his eyes at the childish name calling despite the fact that, deep inside, he was seething in annoyance. Gods, how he hated being called that. That horrible taunting nickname dubbed by the very boy currently causing his ire after he was given the role of the blasted Snowflake Prince in one of their school plays back in first grade.

Joining that play was, thus far, the biggest mistake he has ever done in his life, for after that particular dignity-damaging performance, which had involved the gaudiest and sparkliest costume in existence and an embarrassing incident he just wasn't willing to go over any further details into, every kid at school, following the example of Theon, had taken to calling him Jon the Snowflake Prince. In time, it had been shortened into Jonny Snowflake, then to Jon Snow, and finally, simply Snow. 

The name had stuck since then. 

Funny thing was that it was supposed to be Theon playing that role, but the arse -- erm, _buttocks_ \-- had to go and be conveniently sick for a whole week, allowing him an excuse from practice, so their teacher, Ms. Stork, picked Jon for the role instead.

Looking over his shoulder, he yelled at the dratted creature, "Why don't you come over here and get it yourself, you sloth!"

"It's right by your feet, Snow!" he yelled back. "Just throw it back here. It's not very hard, I swear!"

Jon sneered in response, once more turning his back to Theon.

"Oh, wait!" He hears the infuriating boy add condescendingly. "That's only if you aren't too much of a wimp to do that. I mean, I understand. Wouldn't want to break my delicate little snowflake arms by lifting a ball either if I were you." 

Jon felt one of his eyes twitch at the gibe.

"Bugger off, Theon!" he blurted out, belatedly realizing that he just uttered a bad word. A guilty wince flashed across his face as he imagined his Grandma Lyarra chiding him for that blunder.

But Theon, stubborn and prideful as he is, did not let up and only snickered at him tauntingly. One of them had to give way, and seeing as Jon resolved to be the bigger man, he knew it should have to be him.

With that in mind, along with his exasperation of Theon's persistent jeering, he grudgingly yielded. Jon stood up, huffing irately, and with a vicious kick to the ball, sent it flying towards the cause of his shattered peace. He waited with bated breath for it to hit his target, which, in other words, was Theon's stupid face, thinking with uncharacteristic amusement what a pleasant sight that would be.

Unfortunately for Jon though, his kick was quite feeble and his aim slightly awry, so the ball merely grazed the boy's shoulder.  Theon spun on his heel and jogged to where the ball went to to retrieve it, but not before throwing Jon a smirk that was practically his subtle way of saying, 'Wuss!'. 

Jon was loath to admit that the little squid's nettling had successfully gotten on his nerves. He gritted his teeth, clenching and unclenching his right hand to try to alleviate his irritation from having to deal with the Greyjoy boy, but it merely proved to be quite an ineffective form of catharsis.

Disappointed in his lack of success at retaliation, he simply settled for delighting in the mental image of the ball hitting Theon squarely in the face and hearing that satisfying thwack of the impact instead. Jon has quite a vivid imagination after all... 

But even that, he had to admit, wasn't enough to appease him. 

With an ugly scowl etched on his otherwise handsome face, Jon slumped back in his pleasantly solitary seat, shoving the remaining lemon cake in his mouth yet not quite tasting and enjoying its flavour any longer. He heaved out a deep sigh, electing to just divert his attention elsewhere which didn't involve Theon's stupid smirking face. 

He swept his gaze around and immediately caught sight of a shock of red hair -- Sansa's, unmistakably -- huddled in the garden alcove together with two more heads, one blonde and the other brunette, as they giggled silly over the dripping cones of ice cream clutched in their hands, all the while sneaking glances at an older tawny haired boy he wasn't familiar with. 

 _Probably another one of Robb's friends,_ he thought. 

There was something about seeing those little girls, all smitten and tittering over some boy, that amused him so. Though he probably shouldn't be, he supposed. They're still too young for such things as crushes.

Then there was his Grandma Lyarra, along with his Aunt Cat, flitting about to rub elbows with the older guests who had come as chaperones to the little kids. Judging from the huge smile on her face and the way her hand kept on drifting over her tummy, Aunt Cat was probably telling them of her current pregnancy which she and Uncle Brandon had just announced over dinner last night. She's little more than a couple of months into it, but the evidence was already showing in the light swell of her belly.

Arya was most curious and confused after that announcement. 

 

_"What's pwegnant?" she had asked her father, a thoughtful frown marring her countenance._

_"It means that you're going to be a big sister soon." her father had answered, feeding her a small bit of steak from his plate and then adding happily, "Just like Sansa is to you."_

_But the little girl had simply given her father her signature pouting scowl then, looking none too pleased at the idea of being anything like her older sister._

 

Looking about farther, Jon's eyes found said little girl, attempting to do cartwheels on the springy grass with a freckly red-haired boy whose name he recalled as Michael... or was it Mika? Misha? Mycah?

Well, one of those, he was sure of that, at least.

The sight of Arya, bright-eyed and pink-cheeked, was enough to make the lingering image of a certain icky squid disappear from his thoughts and eventually put a smile on his lips.

"Awya can do it! Look, Mickey, look!" he could hear her say. But by the looks of what she's actually doing, Jon could rightly say that, well... she _can't_.

His silly little cousin was down on the grass on all fours, both palms and feet pressed flat on the ground, her nappy-clad bum sticking out in the air. One foot was then swung in a supposedly graceful and over-the-head arc (which, in Arya's case, was merely a clumsy lift of the foot about a couple of inch above the ground) and then promptly followed by the other in the same manner. 

It obviously wasn't much of a success. The way Arya did it, it seems as though she was simply mimicking an injured bunny that was hopping sideways rather than doing an actual cartwheel. And watching her friend as he kept on sniggering, Jon surmises that he probably thinks the same.

He couldn't help but chortle as well, amused at the scene before him.

Seeing Arya, frazzled and sweaty, with her hair sticking out in every which way as she tried and failed to do cartwheels, Jon was somehow reminded of that periwinkle-eyed girl he saw yesterday at the Godswood cemetery.  

That tree-branch-brandishing, dragon-wings-wearing, White-Walker-slaying girl with the smile that made him feel weird things in his tummy -- _as if there were fluttery butterfly wings in it..._

Jon found it rather odd that a simple smile could affect him so. But he hadn't been able to help it. And then, being the shy boy that he is, he had merely run away from the girl. And as though that wasn't embarrassing enough, he even tripped and fell flat on his face.

His cheeks pinkened at the memory and so he tried to shoo it away from his thoughts. He huffed, abruptly rising from his seat, and headed to the table where the tiered trays of lemon cakes were set, hoping to distract himself from the remembrance of that humiliating exhibition of his clumsiness.

His father hadn't arrived yet and he thought that it would be a good idea to save some lemon cake for him before it's all gone. And, well, perhaps a few for himself, too, for later...

Jon had just slipped three neatly wrapped little squares of cake inside his pocket when, out of nowhere, someone grabbed him by the waist, hoisted him off the ground, and quite unceremoniously tucked him under their thick and burly arm. 

The surprise of being lifted – or more like snatched – made Jon yelp and flail in reflex. He instinctively struggled from his captor’s grasp when the man proceeded to walk as though he was merely holding a doll, but then Jon abruptly halted as it occurred to him just how much it would hurt if he fell to the ground. Preferring to not actually be subjected to such a painful accident, he curled closer to the yet unknown man’s body, latching on tight for fear of being dropped. Jon composed himself for a second before looking up at his captor’s face, readying himself to demand he be put down, but the moment he tilted his head up and saw who it actually was, he, well… he started laughing instead.

The man’s deep chuckle joined in on his laughter as he mussed Jon’s hair in that rough affectionate manner of his.

"So, how's the birthday boy faring?" his Uncle Brandon asked playfully as he put him back down on his feet. "Having fun?"

"It's fine." the boy mumbled in answer, fixing his shirt that had bunched up after being wedged under his uncle's arm. "Except Theon is being an ars-- a butt, I meant to say butt -- again."

Jon froze, uncertain as to whether his uncle noticed that almost-blunder. But the man merely ignored it, perhaps not noticing or just not entirely caring that one so young would utter such a word. 

"Well, never mind him." his uncle said. "That kid's a lot like his father. A pain in the _butt_ , that one." He grinned before beckoning him nearer and Jon didn't miss the way his uncle emphasized the word 'butt'.  _So, he did notice._

His uncle walked closer to him and put an arm over his shoulder to draw him to his side. "Come along then, your grandpa's got a surprise for you that'll be a surefire way to cheer you up." he said as he steered him towards the patio door.

"Another present?" He gave his uncle a pleasantly surprised look that slowly slid into something resembling that of mild skepticism.

From the moment he woke up, he has been continuously receiving gifts from his family. First was a kids' archery set from his grandfather and grandmother. Then, a new bicycle from Uncle Bran and Aunt Cat (though he very much doubted that his aunt had anything to do with that). An Azor Ahai action figure and an 'Aemon the Dragonknight' comic book (his two favourite superheroes) from Uncle Benjen. A ball from Robb. A pink and glittery handmade birthday card from Sansa. And a weird-looking bug from Arya. She had named it Tickleboots and insisted he keep it as a pet. 

She had looked so proud as she presented it to him that Jon hadn't the heart to refuse despite finding the creepy crawly a bit icky. And so, there Tickleboots was, currently sleeping soundly in Jon's room, inside a glass jar on his desk, after devouring a whole leaf.

There were also gifts from most of the kids who had come to the party. No doubt, Aunt Lya will be sending something as well. Then, his father will be bringing something from Essos when he gets back. That's what he'd told him when they talked over the phone yesterday. 

And now, another surprise? They're really making it their mission to lavish him with gifts on his birthday.

His uncle hummed as he pensively scratched his stubbled chin and said, "Well, you could say that..."

Brimming with curiosity and excitement, he tugged at his uncle's sleeve, asking, "What is it?"

"Not what. More like who." he responded with a knowing grin.

Jon was practically bouncing on his toes, his face lighting up. "Is dad back?"

But his uncle simply looked down at him as his grin turned rueful. "Sorry, pup. Your dad isn't here yet." And then, to amend it, added, "But he will be soon enough."

He felt quite disappointed hearing that, but was quick to mask it with a smile and another attempt at a guess. 

"Aunt Lya?! Is it Aunt Lya? She's here?!" he asked giddily, only for his uncle to once more dash his hopes by answering him with a negative.

Jon's face puckered into a frown as he looked up at his uncle. "Who else could it be?"

"Let's just say that you haven't seen them in a long while." he answered, giving him an exaggerated shrug and another teasing grin. "Maybe a couple of years or so?" he went on, hinting at something with feigned nonchalance. "I think, the last time you saw them was on your sixth birthday."

Jon's frown deepened as he mulled over what that meant until it suddenly dawned on him.

_Could it be...?_

His eyes grew wide and a smile spread on his lips, stretching wider and wider as the certainty of the thought latched onto his mind. He looked at his uncle with a questioning gaze and the man's chuckle had been enough confirmation. 

Unable to contain his glee, he ran excitedly towards the house.

"Careful now, pup!" his uncle cautioned lightheartedly from behind him, a smile in his voice. "You might trip! It wouldn't do to greet your guests with bloodied knees!" 

But he didn't care. He was just that eager to see them again. It really had been so long since he last saw them and they him.

Jon didn't exactly expect for this day to be a good one, not with it being a constant reminder of what's been lost, and surely not with the annoying little squid back at the garden. But with the unexpected visitors waiting for him inside the house, he decided that it didn't turn out too bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, who might these visitors be, I wonder...


End file.
